Perfectly Not


Have you ever met someone,

More perfectly broken?

Like the singular shattering,

Of crystal glass.

The sound strangely beautiful.

The sun shines knowingly,

Glinting off each precise fissure,

Each poignant shard,

Of me.


The sound shoots right though you,

Like an icicle to the heart.

You feel a bittersweet joy,

A strange enticement,

To a broken me.

Because I’m broken,

Just so.


Nobody wants the undamaged,

With each ugly example of,


I shatter,

Thus I am perfect.

I break,

So do I live.


Growth comes from destruction,

Triumph from failure,

And as I explode,

Into millions of perfectly sharp crystals,

I create something new,

And become something different. 

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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