The Broken Sculpture

Broken Sculptures

i proclaim myself broken

i don’t want your life of perfection,

perfection isn’t happiness,

it isn’t the wild life i live,

or the one i strive to conquer,

life has it’s faults,

it’s downfalls,

it’s surprises…

it the wonderful unpredicted

the clock without hands,

i am not broken,

perfection is the photograph,

hanging straight on a wall,

while the truth hides in the cracks,

look under the sculpted faces,

see the saddened eyes,

the hurt that buries itself.

truth is seen as the enemy,

but isn’t it what sets us free?

by Rissa

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