Here is a Broken Soul

Faces at a Festival

Who amongst us is whole? Let them pick up a stone and judge us all.

What is it like to live life with a heart unexpressed but praised for its mysteriousness? That is a question for which its answer I will never know. My soul meditates on things too complicated. It thirsts for a connection that my generation mocks. We rave over individuality but conform to ideals that make clones of us all.  Our intentions are buried beneath fear. Fear that we mask as nonchalance but call it maturity.

Life is a gift, yet with our grown egos, we belittle the childlike, authentic joy we had for it. We constantly remind ourselves, “You only live once,” not as a call to meaning but as an excuse to avoid putting in the work.

The work of healing.

Of loving.

Of forgiving.

Of being disciplined, kind and patient.

Of living.

I used to think success meant being validated, whether by thousands of people or just two. I thought success meant being loved by those around, be it close people or those who are distant. But I’ve realised that real success is when you learn to love yourself. Not in a prideful manner lest you hurt those around you. But in full, honest acceptance of your being. The brokenness and the rays of light that they reflect.

Have you accepted your broken soul?

Or are you still chasing perfection, pointing out the flaws in others, yet blind to your own?

Or maybe you see your brokenness as clear as day, but still choose to function in dysfunction?

Here is a broken soul.