Broken Shell

A five year old girl
searching for shells
with her mother
along the Florida Tide line

reaches down and finds
the perfect one
it was the right color
the right shape
size,
it was beautiful to her eyes

beaming she ran to show her mother
who took one look
and told her to through it back
it had a chip
it had a crack
it wasn't perfect

not suitable for the collection
of already perfect shells
they had back home

those were weighted words
bearing significant meaning
coming from a mother
whose child was born imperfect
who nearly died at birth

words are strong
words become pillars
indestructible foundations
to build a life upon

the child looked sadly at her beautiful shell
and gave it back
to the sea
so no one would see
the chip
or the crack
on that beautifully imperfect shell
she had cradled so gently so lovingly in her palm

that child grew up wondering
how many would throw her back
for her imperfections
her broken shell

she paints pictures now
and writes words
to cauterize the wounds
of a hurt that runs deep

she felt so sorry for that shell
as she still feels sorry for it now
the same way she feels sorry
for herself today

see me
see me
see me
she pleads
hoping others
will SEE her

NOT FLAWS

the beauty is truly in the imperfections

it wasn't her mother's fault
she just didn't
think about the implications of what
she said…
or how her child would
receive the words

I have a collection
of beautifully
imperfect shells
in a jar by the window

because I love them…
all imperfectly perfect, just the way they are
individual and unique

© 2010 Lyndsey Warren