delicate

like rain on dust and

leafs in air a fragile 

inconsistent thing

that breaks when you cover it

in grip and

crumbles like statues into sand

watch as sentences separate into words

and then letters and then lines that

break into dots that are ultimately made of

space

space is the only truth that exists

delicate

like misinterpretations and the veils of 

judgement we cover ourselves in that fall behind us 

like a tail a treasure we hold onto like a  crown

an ego

a frame we wear because it shines

essence

like its glass was broken and it was at its worst

with nothing more to lose

in a million pieces it did not try to put itself together

creation

making magic from these broken bits

the glitter of a million cuts that clung unto

its broken skin

war-wounds it embraced as a self that was 

entirely 

self-accepting and inspirational

 

 

 

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