fragments and stars

cosmic mash. a rare, genuine breed of camera shy beauty queen. eyes that are colored in with hues of outer space, you are more than an assemblage of organs and skin and teeth.

you are soul. long hair or pixie cut of whatever color, shaved head, white skin or dark, with limbs or without them, you are bones and an exotic drink of something else. lips that curve upward and around to point us towards those eyes, teeth, laugh. charisma, shy, hidden. it's safer to curl up; pull your knees up to your chest and guard that heart.

we are mutating to fragments, rolling up the blue prints with a tightened jawbone with tears tightening a cord around our throat-- but "it's okay.. I'm fine" and we enroll in a course of study on what it means to be shattered. Today we learn about the bits and pieces of glass that our flesh is, and our minds the lack of adhesive to hold it all together-- today, we learn that we are not whole, and that we are less. 

we are graduates of a system of the lower and the least, and we have degrees in deep degradation of the stars. we learned how to handle broken glass; that our bodies are fragments, framed by a system, and we can organize: the hair, numbers on a scale, eyes, acne, legs, birthmark, nose, hips-- keep the ones that fit into the frame and eliminate what ever doesn't fit just right. Shape it up, organize.

like when your momma always told you to clean up your room, and to get rid of the stuff in your closets, start digging through your soul, and get rid of all stuff you wouldn't want someone to see in a facebook feed--

forget flesh. you are solid silicone.

you are bloody fingers from handling shards that were once mason jars filled with hearts that you never wanted to break. you are in a mold now. you're theirs. be strong, smokey eyes and poise. finding gods in the limelight, making love to the twilight that sets against the blueprints that sink with the sun and all the things that once were there to whisper in your ears "original." 

circus animals barred back in cages, we live in a conscienceless frame with a tube pumping in just enough air to keep us alive. do lungs matter? or are they not attractive? because we have junkyards that are filled-- piled high. like a land of misfits, we banish our faces and hair and peel off our skin because it hurts when a shattered girl looks in the mirror and sees the broken glass. 

it hurts, when the mirror is whole and you aren't.

starry sphere, glittering. you are blonde hair and blue eyes and birthmarks and missing fingers. you are brown hair and wide eyes, smile and only one arm and I think "wow... beautiful". because you're not silicone. i never expected you to be.

skin is your biggest organ. it breathes and it maps out the mountains and where you slipped and fell, and it takes the hits when it knows your heart can't handle it. it's celebrates when you reached the top. it soaks in starlight and it exhales against the sky whether he wants his hands against it or not. because it wasn't made for him to touch, it was made for you to stretch and hug and inhale...and exhale. it's yours.

jawbone, neck, arms, heartbeat, legs-- they're yours. and they're in the blueprints-- copyrighted and original and... 


mixed package of tall and messy hair, short pixie cut and acne and pale blue eyes, one arm, big heart, third degree burns or intentional cuts-- wow, you are beautiful. 

sometimes it's good to let your hands fall out of their fists, come away from that face; push those knees back away from that chest because like a letter you become opened. you unfold and we see, for the first time, what He wrote there when He made you. when God said something about light and-- bam, you were suddenly there, and He was like "whoa...beautiful"

you are not acne, or cuts, or weight or height-- and you weren't made for him. You were made for Him-- his hands were the first to touch you, and form the skin, mess up your hair and paint it that gorgeous color, kissing supernovas into those bright eyes, framing you with something that only ever shoots a love-struck arrow in your direction, to point to that aurora of skin, hair, legs, eyes, lungs and teeth and declare: 


you're equal. you're perfect. 
not his. not less than.

you belong to no one, but the wind on which you are swept off of  your feet and swooned into a romance between you and the divine. you are intellect and purpose and spirit, intertwined and eager. you are dangerous and born out of an undeniable potential for revolution. you are kingdom come, child of space. you're a falling star that's crashed our party; you've invaded our desert island and blown apart our labels.

you've escaped somehow, in there. we can see it... because something is there. because the fists are down, and your heart is missing it's iron case. you're beautiful. and you're free. and we've been waiting all this time for you.

please show us how to be stars again.

another star


  1. i'm crying.
    your words, are so so powerful and beautiful. just woah.

    1. aww, Marcia, thank you so much. That means so much *hugs*

  2. This is so beautiful, Katie. <3

  3. This is absolutely amazing. You have a way with words.

    1. that means so much, Jessi, thank you. <3

  4. This beautiful. My eyes are seriously tearing up now after reading this post. You are so talented with words.

    MJ //

    1. aww, MJ, thank you so much. I'm so glad it meant something to you. <3

  5. This is really really just beautiful...and I feel like I have zero words to say how much I enjoyed this. I JUST DID. I always feels super inspired when I stop by your blog...because, a) it's always beautiful and your photography skills always leave me amazed and b) your writing is just out-of-this-world gorgeous.

    1. Aww, that means so much to me, Cait!! *hugs* thank you so much


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