Broken Beauty

Growing up I was told to write poetry about the beauty in the world

Not by my Mother, who is my closest confidant, but by the world that fractures everything beautiful

I wrote poetry at the early age of ten, then at twelve, my words spread across the landscape I call home in a competition I didn't really understand, told it went to local, state, region

Then to national, coming third in place

I was told to write about the Beauty

The Beauty

The Beauty

But not the broken

Broken are wrong

Broken are useless

Broken are bad

Yet I am asked how can I correlate my belief in God to my poetry when I write about hopelessness and broken

My God broke his own body for my sins

I am asked how can I wish that all reconcile to God and none go to hell

When my poetry can fuel the pain in my heart created by an earthly father that was never there

I am asked how can I write about anything other than God, if I call myself a christian

Yet my christianity is not all that defines me, it is not a disease that creeps under my skin and into my brain

I reread over the Bible, the New Testaments and the old

I read the poetry that is Psalms, and I see the broken in man

How can you ask me, demand of me, drag out of me what you define as beauty

My God is broken, and he is whole, he didn't leave me in places alone

He had flesh torn from his back and from his being crushed under the weight of a world that hated him

Can you tell me that Beauty is bad when Jesus was broken to make me whole

Write about the Beauty

The Beauty

The Beauty that is consumed and spat out by society

The Beauty soft spoken ears want to hear

The Beauty that bold hearts disdain to see

Because the Beauty that was wanted of me at my old schools, was beauty they could measure 

Beauty is Broken

Broken is Beauty

Dipped in gold and blood of his Life Breath to show how we are healed

And even when broken parts are still not whole, I will write about Broken

Because in my fight, it is not my own

Broken Beauty