Once and a thousand times I pick up what was broken. They are, were, were pieces of my light and shadow. Each of the pieces, has a part of my history, of what I was and will be. But they broke, when I didn't take care of what I had. Now I put them together, carefully so as not to break them again. These pieces were part of who I was and who I will soon be. My hands try to glue together what is already hard to fix, but I can't leave them broken, otherwise I'll be no one. I've already put it back together, now it's more beautiful, it's not perfect, but that's where my beauty is, in my imperfection.
Credits: The images used are free to use and royalty free. They were taken from pixabay.
Original poetry by (martinte)