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I will tell you the decision I made with myself.

I’d rather be broken and bloody
than warmed in a realm of just comfort.
I want to feel rage, to fall amongst the stars
open and raw,
shaking;
fire and ice all at once.

I’d rather the scars and the burning
than numbing to hide from my fear.
I want it to singe every edge of my sanity.
Let me die of heartache and heroism,
then reborn by the magic of the sea;
washed to shore in pieces,

unshackled,
and made stronger than ever before.

I’d rather be broken and bloody
because the marks left behind
will sing of my rebellion,
the dirt under my nails can whisper the tale
of how I clawed out of my own grave.

From time to time,

and time again,
I might crack;
I might waiver,
but in my earnest refusal
I

will

rise,
for I was born in the belly of a storm
and I am a child of its carnage.

and when you are choking on the ashes
you will see the way

Hope

has etched itself into my spine,
amidst tears and gnashing teeth,
in between a skewed heart,
in that middle place,
I have woven myself back together.

and you can see
in a brilliant contrast to the darkness,
the stitches, 
you can see my 

unconquerable

soul.

I used to be different,

the one laughing with glass shards in my mouth,
howling hollow words into the night
and feeding the sickness;
some idea that we are porcelain,
perfect,
unmoved by this world,
and I looked out from eyes that refused to see.
I ate my unsaid words
and gorged myself on fear.

It’s funny 

to think of how starved I was,
how I neglected truth

and vulnerability.

So,
my fellow stumblers,
that’s what we are,
stumbling about through the wreckage
licking our wounds and setting fire to our bones,
let us feast together on things of substance.
Let us rejoice in the trials.
We can sing without key or chords,

we can tend to the missteps and mistakes,
and cry, and be broken,
we can acknowledge regret, and
then lay it to rest and

move                   forward
in our imperfect dancehall.
Let’s take a seat side by side
and let ourselves unravel,
then bind ourselves back together again.

I’d rather be broken and bloody,
with my brothers and sisters alike,
be weak and then become strong
sing to the moons,
burn with the sun
and delight in the changes we have begun.