There are parts of me
that are so broken,
it cannot be fixed.
No kintsugi technique of love
can fix what is broken.
Parts of me are like pieces
ground into dust.
You can't just mold the dust
back into the old shape of a vase.
There is no golden liquid
to fill between the cracks.
I'm not asking you to fix me,
to find pieces that may fit,
or leave gaping holes
in once whole vase.
All I ask is that you love me,
as I am, unconditionally,
and that you have patience
while my sharp edges become
smooth again.
Your love cannot be kintsugi for me,
but give me time love,
I must be my own technique.
YOU ARE READING
The Fruit is for the Fallen
PoetryA Collection of my poetry of 2016. This is for the Fallen Angels, for Lucifer and his followers. This is for Eve who bit the Fruit. For sex and sin, the curse of the name of God upon their lips. We are sinners, dreamers of nightmares. We are the Mo...
