Though we are all a little broken,
I am not a bottle of glue.
On hands and knees, I
frantically try to put
the severed pieces
of your pot
back together.
But shards break through skin,
until suddenly
I’m the only one
bleeding
as you just watch.
Next time a pot breaks,
I’ll hand you a bottle
and be on my way.
Because from now on,
I fill my own pot’s cracks
and mine alone.
I fill them with love
and self-acceptance
and patience
and action
and perseverance.
It’s time for me to stop
shopping for broken pots
and start
putting possibilities
into a basket
that’s woven strong.
One that doesn’t break
One that can carry my fears
and Hopes
and Desires
With this newfound straw material,
I'll no longer have to wonder
if they’ll fall off the shelf
and shatter
alongside my heart.
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