kintsugi
There are cracks in the pattern, there are
chipped places.
The delicate lines that formed your face,
the fragile borders of your soul, they have
been broken.
There is beauty in the damage.
There is worth in the rough edges, there
is room for growth and newness in the places
where you once were smooth but now
are jagged, with gaps, pieces missing, but
there is hope in the molten gold that holds you
together now, stronger than your porcelain face alone
could ever have been.
You are bigger now, bigger by a hairline fracture,
by a lightning-bolt sundering you in half,
by the width of a pinky nail missing and refilled
with preciousness, with luminous soft strength.
Once you were whole and smooth and untested,
now you are whole again and again, remade with each crack
into something golden.