Jagged edges
Dreams like ghosts escape
I grasp
my mind in fragments
As if my soul is fled, lost forever
in some dizzying maelstrom of doubt
For what was my essence but its organization?
Was I really so devoid of substance?
Are these pieces truly me
or was their semblance the only structure that propped up the ghost?
And I stumble every day, falling, falling
Falling in love, falling for lies, falling out of fortune’s favor
I hit the floor and withstood not its unforgiving face
unfit to live, or so it seemed
My form was my function,
and neither can be again
Give up?
Let scattered shards be ground into dust beneath heedless feet?
Reclaimed by oblivion until millenia see my molecules
take some foreign form
No legacy, nor even legend
Go on?
Learn new form, new function
Be repaired
Reimagine identity

What am I but the scars?
The constant breaking and rebuilding and rebreaking?
Until the flesh is overshadowed by the molten trails that hold it together
What am I but healing? But the experiences that
shape me, break me, make me question all I know
As if this mind of malleable clay could claim sentience
Healing does not restore
Repair will never rewind
These heavy circles of the mind
ever-descending cycles, spirals into madness
would sway you otherwise, but heed them not
Forget, forge ahead
shards molten, melded in the furnace
Emerge reimagined
burned away

See these scars shine
Scarlight in this void I call my soul
A universe unknown
though I gaze from shallow earth each night,
I cannot probe its depths
any more than I can this grave that rejects fragile shell time and again
No shame, not this time
No longer
See me, hate me, break me again
but I will be, fully, in all my shattered glory

Time marches on, its path permanence
Try as you might, but erasure is irrational
These trails may be the lines of heartbreak’s story
but their sunlight-gilded edges sing hope’s victory
Moments etched upon my flesh, emblazoned
despite raised eyebrows, razor-murmurs, rumors
My steps are steadfast, for fate’s pen strokes
are a story not of brokenness, but of strength
I am not shattered on ragged cliff-floors, nor
despairing in desolation, awaiting demise
Watch me stand, gather the shards
piece by piece reforged, brazed and brazen  
These eyes no longer shy from yours
These steps no longer waver
I have been through hell
razed and raised
reduced to dust and reconstructed
flawed and fire-birthed
known life’s knife, its depth and worth

I am impermanence
I am imperfection


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