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