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.