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Jan 28
(the Japanese art of fixing pottery with gold)

you filled in my cracks, my flaws, my imperfections,

with gold,

so that the scars latticed across my skin shone.

you made me beautiful,

made me perfect,

and deemed me your work of art.

they knew you ripped me apart

sewed me together again and called it mercy

but did not applaud any less

"beautiful scars" they said.

beautiful, yes,

but broken nonetheless.
hello guys! please be nice, this is my first poem on here. hope you guys liked it!
Written by
caz  15/Gender Fluid/Singapore
(15/Gender Fluid/Singapore)   
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