kintsugi
there is something indescribably beautiful about porcelain the flawless smoothness, the indeterminate perfection it's all curves and lissome grace and no one can find a fault but when the water builds like a swelling word like a battle cry against the unfairness of creation if the porcelain cracks, will it be worth what it originally beautifully was? there it is, that anonymity of being damaged every crack renders it a stranger to the beautiful no one claims ownership, for who will tie themselves to imperfection? a single number, a little tally mark off of a chipped granite wall sitting on a shelf filled with numerous obscurities all of us broken, damaged creatures, lined up in factory lines the shadows come play with us in the dust mote air lights dancing across every jagged ridge and valley they caress every point and soften the harshness with their silence i like this, being not known i like this darkness, this anonymity for no one likes to jeer at shadowed nothings but the mor