The Beauty in the Mess

ruffles macro

Within each crease, beneath each scar, and etched in every vein

Her petals form a tale alive with hope carved out of pain;

Though deeply marred, disfigured, torn, her beauty proves to me

The choice to bloom despite her wounds is what has set her free.

I read within imperfect folds a novel penned by grace,

For harshest hurts transformed, redeemed, become the very place

Where subtle hues and fragile scent, those glories forged by stress,

Release our truest, highest self – the beauty in the mess.

 

 

Silver

lacy willows

They

all say

she was born

with a silver

spoon in her mouth,

and she swallowed it

until the lining leached

limp, a tarnished paste coating

her tongue with bitter mercury.

She dwindled, feeling nickel-

plated, tarnished deep beyond

redemption; should she

choose sterling strength

as treasure,

she’ll birth

gold.