freckle-speckle face,
marks like delicate lightning
on stomach and thighs,
soft form like Aphrodite.

broad, sturdy bones
wrapped in imperfection.
with flaws like gems,
you shine the brightest.

An oyster’s grit accumulating
new layers of aragonite
and calcite, contributing, plating
the growing bright translucent white
and crystalizing hard, pellucid
wan pearl – that forms within the mucid
molluscan slimy dank inside –
a creamy gem is calcified.

Diaphanous and lustrous jewel
or septic and necrotic stone
that’s like a canker which has grown
into an opulent fat spherule?
A pearl forms round a piece of grit,
my childhood at the heart of it.

This...  or that..
the pull of this world
and its long supply
of disappointment,  is strong

I shall Reframe my Journey
almost continually

There is a swirl..  a rising
line, taut..

before limply settling
back down onto the water

There are moments  in time
that live forever

There is a time within
those moments;
I never truly had
the chance  to live

There is a Journey to reframe


I will find my life again,  
   somewhere

Buried deep
within that framework

Our crude imperfections they serve to remind
     Of the ****** limits by which we’re defined
               And so I surmise
               That you need not despise
     The ephemeral flaws of a natural kind

There is no prize to perfection,
No crown for its endless direction.
Only the stillness, cold and mute,
Of a dream that halts in its pursuit.

The edge of longing, sharp and thin,
Cuts deeper than the goal within.
For what is gained when all is won,
If the chase extinguishes the sun?

Perfection lies in things undone,
In breaths that falter, threads unspun.
For life is richer, raw, unplanned,
A fleeting touch, a trembling hand.

There is no need for flawless art,
But space to mend the human heart.
No prize awaits, no grand pursuit—
Only life’s quiet, imperfect truth.

I am not merely a mosaic,
But a complex tapestry of shards.
Each fragment tells a unique story,
Woven together with threads of love and scars,
Reflecting the myriad experiences that have shaped me.

Golden glue binds my fractures,
A testament to my relentless fight.
Through unwavering dedication and countless sacrifices,
I rise from shadows into the warm embrace of light,
Where hope ignites and dreams take flight.

In my cracks, my journey shines bright,
A map etched with the struggles I have faced.
Torment intertwines with resilience;
Wisdom emerges from hard-wrought lessons,
Each insight a precious gem in my heart’s treasure chest.

These golden seams narrate my tale with eloquence,
Boundaries drawn with meticulous care and intention.
I refuse to settle for treatment that belittles my worth;
I know I deserve far more than mere existence—
I am worthy of love that uplifts and nurtures my spirit.

I wear my history proudly like armor,
Each mark a badge of grace that speaks to my strength.
I am Kintsugi—a masterpiece in my own right,
An intricate creation forged in adversity’s fires,
Embracing every flaw as a vital part of my narrative.

With each step on this journey of self-discovery,
I stand tall and resolute, declaring to the world:
I deserve the love I freely give to others,
And a world that reflects kindness and compassion in return,
Where every heart shines with its unique beauty.

One day, while getting ready, I looked in the mirror
And I saw my legs blow up to twice their size
So I quickly left to change my ripped pants
Wiping away the tears in my eyes

And the next day I returned to this mirror
And my face had a dark shade of red
So I shut all of the windows in my house
And hid under the covers of my bed

And whenever I went out in public
I could swear everyone was looking at me
And I knew I wasn't human anymore
For a monster was all they could see

So I kept my head down
Throwing piles of unfitting clothes on the floor
I would probably grow monster-like tentacles for my arms
Or monster-like claws to scratch all the doors

Then I couldn't stand the sight of me
So I shut off all the lights and shut out the sound
But I could still see about one hundred reflections of myself
In the shattered mirror on the ground.

I've heard many people ponder on the power of words
But to me they only hold little strength
They're like tree roots that can't reach deep at all
Or a winged angel with no rank

Maybe they're powerful when other people write them
Maybe their word choice is more precise
But if so, then I don't believe words
Should have a certain chance of being strong, just a rolling of a dice

But this shouldn't bother me, it's my fault for choosing weak words
But I could never find a word that surely wouldn't make my mind melt
Oh, but if I wrote just a little bit better
You could truly feel what I've felt.

She is beautiful.
She sits alone, solitary.
Fragrence flows from her flesh,
yet she still sits, breathing the air of the valley.

Delicate she is,
her petals billow in the wind.
She is perfection.
A lie could never fall from her tounge.

Xochitl, flower.
Flower...
shes so sickiningly sweet.
Delicate, sweet, perfect.

When she bloomed she sung.
A magestic hymn that rung through the valley.
One day she'll wilt, her petals falling to the ground.
One day her song will stop.