Kintsugi: Gilded Clay

Crash. Smash. Flash.

The shatter of poetry splinters like my life,
fragments spilling across the floor.
What I have lost,
I’ve learned to gain.

The damage within me,
liquid gold poured into my bones
to fuse the cracks
that have formed.

It is my job to rise,
repair my own damages,
to make myself beautiful,
and forget the brokenness within.

Why am I so prone to shatter?
Why must I be both the potter and the pottery?
Kintsugi repairs,

but how many times
can I be fixed,
before I am nothing but dust?

I can be repaired,
but why should I?
Is it my responsibility,
or that of my creator who destroyed me?

Although kintsugi is art,
pretty, shiny, and lovely,
the pottery will never
be fully whole again.

There is beauty in brokenness,
but at what cost?

If you wanted gold,
then why would you
sculpt me
out of clay?

The shine is pretty,
beautiful yes,
but it is unnatural,
nonetheless.

I used to believe
that if I repaired myself,
I would become
more perfect than before.

You wanted a vase made of gold,
and I could never be that.

No matter how hard I try,
there is no way to turn
clay to complete gold,
despite the fusion attempts.




Sink or Swim

The ocean is calm tonight.
It’s always the calmest before the storm.

People see the sea
and look at the ripples of water,
assuming that it must be peaceful
because calm is comfortable.

But I have learned
that water is fickle and serenity
is nothing more than a warning:
brace for impact.

Being born in a hurricane
teaches you a language
spoken only to those
tempest-tossed through waves.

Inside the hurricane
is the eye of the storm.
That peace can only mean one thing.
This isn’t over; it’s just begun.

Oceans are unforgiving,
even in its kindest calm.
It will drag you down,
and suck you in forever.

A tourist may think
that the sea is gentle,
but a sailor like myself
knows better than to trust the waves.

Sink or swim
but never drown,
in the hidden waves
or the cruel tides.

In the water is where
I have learned to survive.