Give me the sorrow, pain, fear, and anger.
Give me the things that people hate and I’ll smooth out the ruffles.
They’ll make me stronger.
They’ll help me love you.

I see a paragon of virtue in the flaws.
Give me the weakness, and I’ll find its use.
I want the castoffs.
I know their value.

I sit,
Cross-legged by the fire.
The box meant to contain imperfections.
I linger over each, loathing, pity, regret, fear,
My fingers curl over each piece.
My mind caresses the memory.

I change them,
I rewrite the weak,
Strengthen the lesser.
Broken pieces can solidify beautifully.

I swallow the pain, and anger,
Completely neutral outside.
I give a cleanliness to the soul,
At the risk of my own.

If you were to ask…
I’d give honesty.
The fractured pieces demand to be heard.
They scream from their container.
They poke and **** but I swallow it down.
If you ask…

It’s beautifully colored glass,
Broken, healed and broken again.
I can break, but I’ll be whole again.
Colors, defects, knowing and using them
that’s what makes me,
Flawless.