Perhaps you fail to see
the beauty of broken things.

Beauty is the pen that has run out
of ink but is still kept in a
desk drawer.

It is the chipped teacup that
drinks comfortably,

the last ice in an empty glass
at 4 o'clock in the morning.

It is the comfort of a broken
clock, because it never tells you
where to be or what to do,

and the door that doesn't close
but reminds you to keep
your heart open.

It is the broken steps in the stair
that you choose to skip

and the tears in your eyes as
you stare into the broken
bathroom mirror because you
never seem to know your worth.

When I look at you, I don't see
a broken girl,

something that needs to be fixed.

When I look at you I see
beauty

in every scar and imperfection,
and I will gently kiss your smile,

wipe away your tears and tell you,

you're not broken;

you
are
perfect.