The Cracks / by renee mckenna

I feel the broken parts

Of my self

Like a favorite mug

Glued Back together

And the handle falls off


When I hold that mug


I see only the broken places


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


Needing no one


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