The wound is the place where the light enters you.

-Rumi

The first thing we were taught when we were young,
Was that each person is unique and special.
We are all different,
But our differences are what make the world bright and interesting.
On the playground, we distinguished each other by the games we liked to play,
Whether it was kickball or playing with dolls.
We did not care about gender or skin color.
We were too young to know about sexual orientation.
Our political knowledge only extended to knowing a mighty president existed,
And ruled over our great country.
Religion did not arise in conversation.
We cared only about ribbons and bows,
Four leaf clovers and the grass between our toes. 

At what point did we begin to notice the variations in the color of skin?
When did we begin to believe it was strange to love someone like us,
Or that differences in our beliefs should divide us?
When did the bullying begin,
The blatant disregard for other’s feelings,
The cruel empowerment of a few to believe others are below them?
When did boys pulling pigtails become men unbuttoning blouses?
When did girls start painting their eyes and telling lies?
When did they begin to dwindle away or expand before our eyes,
As food became an escape or an enemy?
When did other’s expectations begin to weigh on our minds,
And cause life itself to feel heavy and wearisome?  

As our lives crumbled, we would swear we were fine.
Meanwhile scars began to appear on arms,
Alcohol burned down throats,
And love became only a word instead of comforting arms.
We compared ourselves to one another,
In competitions where no one won,
And we judged one another for trivial things,
Things far more trivial than the games we played on the playground.
We judged each other for skin color, for love, for basic human beliefs,
We judged each other for our capabilities, our appearance, our family income,
We judged each other because we couldn’t face the judgment 
That we inflicted upon ourselves,
And we finally created a world where no one felt at home,
No one felt they measured up,
And all of us were desperately looking for love,
Normally in all the wrong places. 

Somewhere along the way,
During this collection of experiences called “life,"
We forgot how to love each other,
And so, in turn, forgot how to love ourselves. 

I don’t know how to fix what it feels like we broke,
But it probably starts with us,
Each of us, individually,
Accepting one another for who we are,
And then, in turn, accepting ourselves.
It probably begins with loving others without constrains or expectations,
And therefore loving ourselves the same way.
It probably starts with extending words of kindness to those around us,
And so then also speaking those kind words to ourselves.
It probably starts small, with a hopeful outlook towards a brighter tomorrow,
And then working every day towards that goal. 

I’m not sure if we will ever fix what we broke,
Here on earth, where we have been pushing boundaries until they snapped 
Since the moment we arrived,
But maybe, if we focus on just that,
How it took all of us,
All of us brilliantly unique individuals,
All of us hurting, broken, lovely humans,
All of us to destroy what we were given,
Then maybe, just maybe,
We can rebuild something beautiful together. 

For beauty comes, not from the absence of brokenness,
But from the light that is able to shine through,
When we put our broken pieces together again.