Sometimes I wonder
When I’ll actually break.
I’m not a bad person. Some
Might even call me wonderful.
But I’m tired, and that’s making
Me short, angry, and brittle.
Much like jagged glass,
Or some angry, shattered concrete,
I’m blasted apart at the seams
Waiting to recover,
Kintsugi on the page
If not in practice.
But I’m still here.
I’m still me-shaped.
So I can’t be that
Destroyed yet, can I?
Can I?
Oh, but my loves
Assure me I can be.
And I am.
But I’m trying?
Recovery is a long, slow process,
And not one to be taken lightly.
My soul may be tattered,
Ragged,
And barely breathing,
But I?
Am kintsugi,
Golden and beautiful in my repair.
Stronger than before,
A bone broken and growing stronger
Just by dint of being here,
Being alive,
Still breathing.