You can't break me anymore!

There's a quiet beauty, deep and true,
in things that have been broken through,
a whisper to the soul.
It doesn't shout, but gently speaks
of strength that hardship often seeks,
to make a spirit whole.

You carry cracks from moments stark,
the aching shadows, a deep mark
from memories that pressed too hard.
But know this truth, within your core:
you are not worthless, not undone,
your story's not discarded.

A broken mirror still holds light,
a shattered vase, in newfound might,
pieced back, holds richer grace.
A torn page speaks a truth profound,
where vital words can still be found,
and find their rightful place.

For sometimes, what shatters, opens wide;
what wounds, becomes a gentle tide
that washes us to shore.
What scatters, teaches eyes to see
the smallest beauties, wild and free,
and gather them once more.

Like art that needs no perfect line,
a minor chord, a rough design,
can move a heart profoundly.
Your story, with its jagged seams,
its unfinished chapters, waking dreams,
a truth you can now share.

You won't return to what you were,
but in this change, a gentle stir
of evolution's grace.
From brokenness, emerges depth;
from loss, a clearer, vital breath;
from pain, a poet's trace.

So when your spirit feels undone,
your scattered pieces, one by one,
no longer seem to fit—
remember: you are not lost, beloved.
You're being reshaped, finely wove,
a masterpiece, specially knit.

A wonder only you can be,
unfolding for the world to see.