To be perfect
is to be a porcelain doll
made of a thousand fractured pieces
who wakes up every morning
and pierces the foil on a new tube
of superglue
expending every drop
on mending the fragmented shards
of herself
filling in every gap
ensuring no crack is left open,
no light can enter
illuminating the dark emptiness
that is within.
It is tedious and strenuous work,
the act of being flawless.
But to become real
is far more painful indeed.
For as you let the thick layer of glue
which has become your second skin
disintegrate before you,
piece by piece,
you fall to the ground
and are broken again
and again.
And the brilliance of the sunlight blinds you,
painfully piercing through your very soul
exposing all that still stands
of your splintered, shattered self.
And you reach for that familiar, comfortable dress
that you’ve always worn,
but it doesn’t fit,
it won’t cover you anymore
and so you lay in naked fragments on the ground
unable to speak
only able to weep.
Until finally,
your vision clears
your eyes adjust
and at last, you’re able to see
that the light you were so afraid of,
the illumination that haunted your dreams,
keeping you hidden in a life-long masquerade
is not the light of a burning star
or a hallogen bulb.
When the superglue cracks,
the masks fall away,
and the porcelain shatters,
only then will you truly see
that the illumination comes from within.
BELOVED,
YOU
ARE
THE
LIGHT.
