I feel the broken parts
Of my self
Like a favorite mug
Glued Back together
And the handle falls off
Again
When I hold that mug
Sometimes
I see only the broken places
And
I want a new mug
One without cracks and stains
One that feels wiser, smarted, neater
Less vulnerable
A perfect mug
The one I think I want
The mask of my
Idealized self
Sits high on a shelf
Alone
Needing no one
Empty
My broken mug
Is ordinary
It sits imperfectly in company of others
On this Shelf of life
Stacked crooked
Ready to serve tea
My old mug
Is my vessel
to bring
my unique gifts to the world
And it is only through the cracks
That true light shines