The Omelette

If you are broken, let yourself be

All the way broken. Cracked open

Like an egg on a hot pan.

Not neatly even, a clean break—

But a messy, reluctant cracking

As if done by a child,

Not hard enough.

The pieces of shell on thick little digits

And the yolk blending into,

Separating out of

The white,

Speckled with bits of jagged exterior.

If that's you,

Let it happen all the way.

Feel the separation.

How it's not so different

From the blending.

It is better to be scrambled in the light

Than to rot in the darkness.

No one's ever said

Giving birth feels good.

The definition of growth is death

With birth.

If you are broken,

Thank the pieces that have broken off,

And let it be unknown.

Surrender to not knowing.

Accept confusion as an answer.

Stop searching for the end game,

The next phase,

The omelette.

If you're broken,

Be.

© Lauren Winder

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