A Constellation Of Imperfections


God, Goddess, Creator, Mother Nature, Universe? I am unsure of who created me. Who took the stars, crushed them into fine powder, and poured them into this vessel. Who took the clay of the planets and molded me into this imperfect being, filled with the magic of the universe. Who put the twinkle of the stars in my eyes and a spark a flame in my heart. This burning desire for curiosity and passion for the souls that pass in and out of my orbit. To whatever powers-that-be that decided that I was worthy of the air that fills my lungs to feed the rose vines that creep and grow up in branches, that decided I was worthy of the sunshine on my face, the light that my soul bathes in, cleansing me of darkness that lingers in the form of memories of my own self-destruction, I say thank you to you. Thank you for this eternal gift of my life, for I did not always see it as a gift but a curse—a curse of heartache, trauma, and darkness. Because what purpose could the breaking of vases and the shattering of glass possibly serve? But now I know it served me plenty, for in the breaking, I learned to pick up the pieces. The pieces of myself, and yes, I cut myself on those broken shards, because facing the parts of myself I had tried so hard to hate and ignore is painful. It is painful to get to know the soul you have long ignored. It is painful to learn to love yourself, heartbreaking to turn hate into love. It is anything but easy to rewrite the story without erasing the dialogue but to instead reshape what was already there. Understanding that the skeleton, the groundwork, was necessary and more than enough.