More like art

I handed him my fears

like broken glass

warning him not to bleed

he took each shard

turned it over in his hands

never once recoiling

he cradled them like something sacred

like he was handed a star not a shard

as if survival was a kind of beauty

and suddenly

the cracks in me

felt less like damage

and more like art.

This was written last year, before we got engaged :)

I pour a lot of myself into these posts. I’m Devyn — a Precision Medicine Masters student from Canada, a survivor, an artist, and a storyteller. If these words meant something to you and you’d like to help me keep writing (and chip away at tuition), you can support me with a donation or buy me a coffee. Every bit helps me keep telling these stories.

I’m also most active on my Substack — if you want more of my writing, that’s the best place to find me.

Hi friends, thank you for peeking into my diary! I wrote this poem about my current boyfriend, Ping Pong. When we met I was so afraid that I would be hard to love, and that he wouldn’t know what he was getting into. I tried to give him an easy out, and his reaction was “none of this is your fault,” and sticking around. He always finds a way to make me feel beautiful, and loved, and worth the love…