A vessel,

still freshly broken,

old wounds mended with glue.

Porcelain glazed, soul corrupt,

a piece of aftershock disaster.

Dropped, scratched, cracked, and stirred.

The handle once whole, now fragments remain.

Barely holding on!

The shattered pieces all have their place; some never to be found.

The hollowness endures.

Once a terror, never leaving.

Yet overwhelming accomplishment glow through,

No more dismay,

No more panic,

None more to withstand,

The confidence shines bright through porcelain eyes,

No agony left to disguise.

Suddenly, some form of Kintsugi is found,

a light once lost,

gold embedded in my heart.

The scars of trauma still evident,

But there is beauty in the repair and the cup still remains.