a broken pencil

my thoughts wander

through the halls

of wonder

trying to make 

beauty from mess

my thoughts they struggle

to put everything in place

hold it together put it just fall into 

more pieces

pieces that can be turned into art 

reused to create an image

not of perfection

but of life

not perfect 

but messy

 so incredibly messy

and we all just go along

solving problems

as we go

and the beauty of mess

is we can always turn 

it into our perfect

so you see

this poem is a broken pencil

the only way to fix it is

to keep going.


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