wear your vulnerable as tight as a Windsor knot,
be as broken and scattered as you may,
leave ashes of you on the lips of all that cross your path,
brand yourself on their backs and remain a heavy reminder of beauty.
three am minds, four am eyes, five am regrets,
are comforted with redirection of your supplications,
towards the centre of what makes you turn,
why would He teach you to supplicate ‘oh turner of hearts, make firm my heart upon the debt (religion) I owe you’,
if indeed we did not owe him a debt, an honorary spot.
the world and all that is in it cannot contain Him,
glory be to Him who created it all,
He is above the limitations of it and of our minds that attempt to restrict Him to the boundaries of our conjure, of our imagination,
yet by His own admission and admitting,
there He is in the softest corner of your broken, fragile, vulnerable heart,
a secret waiting to beat out, and feed the entirety of you.
i wasn’t lying when i said that the most beautiful secrets are on the edges of frailty,
you’re just unaware you carry one.
to my beautiful broken friends