I'm a vase, shaped by falls and mistakes,
A curious compound, standing among deserts.
Every crack, crack, slip I've lived,
It's carved landscape, only mine at last.
Not polished marble, not mold without fail,
But fragments harvested, made to hold.
For through these breaches, where light may enter,
A soft thread keeps fear from hovering.
With a serious spirit, slowly and with faith,
Good intentions make these pieces grow
In a whole, though marked and imperfect,
Connected by an end to hope of respect.
So I stand, testimony of grace,
A soul of flaps, in time and space.
My own being, failures woven with strength,
Illuminated by the light of intent to hold me.