So, you know when you shatter a piece of pottery

And you glue it back together,

But it never quite looks the same?

Well, I kind of view myself that way.

 

I didn't break all at once, though.

It started slowly.

I believed what a bully said about me -

A piece fell away.

Depression seeped in -

Several pieces crumbled off.

Bulimia - a few more shards.

Self harm - more fallen bits than one could count.

 

Then came the night that changed everything.

The night when the rest of me shattered.

You see, when enough of you breaks,

You aren't able to withstand even the smallest things

The world throws at you.

And me?

My mother found me hanging.

 

She cut me down before I took my last breath.

Before the pieces were thrown away.

Before hope of gluing me back together was gone.

 

I started going to a therapist.

And I realized that all the glue I needed was inside of me.

So, I began to piece together the shards of who I was,

Rebuilding from what I could salvage.

 

Now? Now I'm better.

I'm by no means whole -

There will always be pieces missing.

But I've realized that I'm beautiful,

Missing pieces and all.

I haven't lost my value,

I just gave myself a more imperfect appearance.

And those cracks and missing chunks that I once thought were ugly?

Well, they just make me real.