Broken, hence beautiful.

I feel like a broken glass, shattered into thousands of pieces, trying to find the one that really matters.
But alas!
I wasn’t just about that one broken piece instead I was the whole that broke. I can’t be fixed through pieces because the world won’t accept me, I have to be complete for they will question my existence and will proclaim that I’ll be of no use.
A mirror is to a diva just a reflection of the outer self. But a broken mirror? I am no diva. And broken, I ain’t a mirror too.

The crashing of glass, startles people around, who beg to see what the world would look like through my eyes.
You know what they say, “We look into mirrors but we only see the effects of our times on us — not our effects on others”
But before shattering, I was a mere have, in a room full of other have’s and been.
And so people won’t see their effect on me instead would only highlight my effect on them. I would become a bad omen for some and for the others I’ll turn out to be toxic, but nothing that I did to myself, rather the results of what the world did to me.

I’m trying to collect my scattered pieces because I know that I am more than what people broke. I wasn’t meant to break but I wasn’t meant to be made either and so I’ll complete myself even without the missing pieces because at the end of the day I make me and not the pieces that defined me.