Sometimes, when I look inside myself, I see a lot of broken pieces.
Relationships that went awry and left me torn up inside.
Choices I wish I hadn't made.
Words I wish I hadn't said.
Choices and words I wish I had.
Barbs that sunk into my heart and never let go.
Insecurities I can't shake.
Fears I can't let go.
Just a lot of broken pieces.
And when I look at those pieces, sometimes I wonder what I'm doing.
Why do I bother trying to tell my stories, or share my heart.
How can I be of any help to anyone when I am such a mess myself?
How can any good come out of all these broken shards?
But, I read something the other day that made me smile and made it clear.
Broken crayons still color.
You can still make art even if your crayons aren't sharpened to a perfect point.
Maybe the art won't look the same.
It will look different.
And, you know, maybe art is okay when it isn't perfect.
Maybe it's better.