Was she meant to be broken?
As far as ethereal creatures are concerned,
she fell somewhere in between
a wood nymph—
fragile and belligerent—
and a centaur—
untamable and resilient
she is a living, breathing juxtaposition;
far from flawless,
yet infinitely beyond perfect.
She was flawed,
but as an ornate kintsugi vase
cracked to pieces
and sutured back together with gold
Like the Starry Night
with all its textured paint strokes
thrown together through an artist’s insanity
to procure a masterpiece
Like the Sistine Chapel,
her immaculate art
born from bitterness and dark secrets.
Her body is a museum;
Curated through a series of tragic stories
An erratically beautiful display
of the good,
the bad,
and the utterly grotesque.
Her beauty wasn’t meant to be consumed
by savage, hungry eyes
but admired; beheld
with a fastidious delicateness
not unlike that used to cradle a butterfly
that willfully gravitates towards you.
Where life not only gave her lemons,
but squeezed the juice into her eyes
and laughed maniacally,
she, in her ethereal nature,
embraced the burn,
threw them back,
and demanded something different.
And life, too stunned to protest,
simply complied.
And now,
though a series of tragic stories,
she is fragile and belligerent,
untamable and resilient,
terrifying and gentle,
and completely, complexly beautiful.
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