all the broken little things

You can't say there isn't beauty in broken things
Until after you have seen crushed shells mollified to sand
Until after you've seen tears splatter in sweet pangs
And felt the separating space between the fingers on a hand
For mosaics are made of fractured glass
And a sky split open by the branches of a tree
Just as the earth cracks into blades of grass 
Are just a few of the things you can see
That are as beautiful as the things that are whole 
So don't tell me that beauty in broken things isn't true
Because then there wouldn't be you. 

-anna sluder

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