i keep ripping answers out,
but the violence leaves holes in my body.
the empty spaces fill in with rage instead of flesh.
a piece of pottery
thrown to the floor in anger—
in a loop.
over and over and over again.
healing over with hurt each time.
but instead of gold, it’s grief.
First two lines are very powerful!
You’ve created such a moment here, and one that reminds us we’re the sum of all our broken pieces. Thanks.
This resonates with me. The gold in kintsugi has a flip side and it’s grief.
Dang, that ending caught me. Great work.