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The Fractured Poem
They say the hardest shells hide the softest centers,
That diamonds form under pressure,
That the most beautiful songs are written in the dark.
I believe them.
I have seen mountains crumble into valleys
And valleys rise to touch the sky.
I have watched oceans retreat from shorelines
Only to come crashing back with renewed purpose.
Listen—
There is a thunderstorm inside my chest
Where lightning strikes illuminate
All the parts of me I try to hide.
The thunder is my heartbeat growing louder,
Demanding to be heard.
I am learning to stop apologizing for my earthquakes.
Some days I am a whisper,
A barely-there breath against the universe.
Other days I am a scream,
Tearing through silence like fabric.
Both versions of me deserve space.
Both versions of me are true.
When they told me to shrink,
I expanded.
When they told me to be quiet,
I found my voice echoed off canyon walls,
Traveled across oceans,
Planted seeds in distant soils.
We are all breaking open—
Cocoons tearing,
Roots pushing through concrete.
Nothing grows without splitting apart first.
So let your seams show.
Let your voice crack.
Let your hands tremble.
There is strength in the breaking.
There is power in the piecing back together.
I am not whole.
I am not broken.
I am becoming.
So breathe.
Break open.
Begin again.
And you—
Standing there with your collection of scars,
Your constellation of doubts,
Your river of fears—
You are becoming too.
We are unfinished symphonies,
Paintings still wet with possibility,
Stories adding chapters with every breath.
So breathe.
Break open.
Begin again.
Copyright ©
Christen Foster
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