Sunday Sessions #9

Roxanne Jason
Oct 8, 2017
1 min read

Todays poem is a new one!! This is extra special because I have been finding it difficult to write lately. So all I will say is: she is me, she is you, she is all of us beautifully broken people;

Of beauty and brokenness

Broken. That is what she is. Body, mind and soul. Fragmented. Pieces scattered here and there. So hard to hold it all together.

Masks; she uses them to cover the cracks. Broken vessels can’t be useful, can they? She lives her life carefully. Fragile. No one loves a broken instrument for too long. So she has to learn to love herself. Love herself back to life.

Growth. She learns that this too is painful. The roots break out of the seed. The soil is broken apart for the crops. The butterfly must break free of the cocoon. She has broken so many times. Could this be, brokenness has made her stronger. The breaking open of her soul has made her beautiful?

Beauty. That was always a sexualised word to her. Meaningless; people only used it to get what they wanted. But, oh, how she longed to be called beautiful. How she longed to be seen. "Beloved." She heard it faintly at first. Then louder. "Give me your ashes." She stood open hands to the sky. The great exchange. He gave her beauty. Broken lines coloured beautiful.

And she stood there.

In all her worn out and torn apart glory.

Shining.

A site to behold,

of beauty and brokenness.