It took from me
Chipped away bit by bit
Drained me… well, almost completely.
Yes, I’m not whole
But I’m still art

Cracked canvas
Worn edges
Colors bled into corners
Where joy used to sleep

They see the ruin
But miss the strokes
They touch the scars
But not the story

I am the gallery of everything I survived
Every tear; a brushstroke
Every silence; a signature
Every goodbye; an unfinished line

No, I’m not whole
But wholeness was never the goal
I was meant to be a masterpiece of endurance
A mosaic of moments that didn’t **** me

So let them stare
Let them call it pain
I call it process

I call it proof
That beauty lives
Even in what’s been broken