1/25/21, Something Different

 

Hi Everyone,

 

When I first started writing, I wrote poems. I started in my teens, and the first things I published were poems, before I started writing novels, and one of my first books published was a book of love poems. I still write poems, although not very often. I always compare poems to artists’ sketches, they are just quick little drawings of one’s feelings, while a book is like a big oil portrait. (and short stories are somewhere in between.) The poems I write are usually love poems and they’re very spontaneous. They just bubble up to the surface and I quickly write them down.

 

That happened with the poem below a few days ago. I was thinking about the face we all present to the world, and the unseen scars and ‘broken parts’ we hide deep within us, hoping that no one will see them, fearing that others will love us less because of them. All or most of us have ‘broken parts’, scars from the past, old hurts, sadness or abuse in our childhood, the damage inflicted by people who hurt us. The scars are there, buried deep, and we hide them, not realizing that those who love us see them anyway and love us all the more because of those old broken parts, just as we love them with and for their broken parts. Those scars make us who we are, stronger, better, more human, more compassionate, lessons learned at a high price that have become part of us, and make each of us special, unique, and more beautiful, in the world, and to those who love us.

 

Have a great week,  love, Danielle

 

   Broken Parts

Looking in the mirror

    of another’s eyes,

   you realize

       who they see,

the scars so glaringly

    evident to you,

  the broken parts,

    the darkest ones

        you think

  only you can see

     seem insignificant

        to other eyes,

  and matter not at all.

you’ve worn them

    for so long

  you’ve forgotten

     that they’re there,

the scars have faded

    to a shimmer,

  the wounds no longer

    quite so deep,

 you look again

   to see if they’re

        healed

   or well concealed,

     only to realize

        that seen by

           loving eyes

  they’re part of the beauty

    they see in you,

        the courage

    and the strength,

   not ugly to them

      but part of

          the landscape

             of your soul,

   just as their flaws

         or wounds

             or broken parts

     are part of who

           you love in them.

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