I seem to have a knack for breaking things,

From the Kinderjoy toys my mother gives me to secrets I promised to keep, it is as though destruction is part of my DNA,

It is as though breaking is my only nature.

I shattered a glass,

I fractured my head thrice,

I ruptured a friendship,

Several, to be precise,

Inadvertently damaging the trust of my loved ones,

Time and time again.

Within me, I feel a profound sense of brokenness,

Perhaps it explains why I break other people’s hearts,

So they won’t shatter mine first,

Maybe that’s why I end up hurting others,

To prevent them from causing me pain first,

Or maybe that’s why I mask my scars under a rough exterior,

Fueled by fear, insecurity, or perhaps a combination of both.

I am, in truth, frightened of what I will destroy next

Hopefully, something inconsequential,

Or utterly meaningless,

I simply do not wish to fracture others nor myself,

I want to break free from destruction and rather grow,

Evolving beyond the person who seems to break everything in his path.

Yet, in the heart of destruction, I've found an unexpected teacher,

Showing me resilience through repair, understanding through the fragments,

Each break, a lesson in healing, in piecing together something stronger.

In every crack, there is a story of survival, of mending,

Breaking has taught me the value of reconstruction,

Of building connections and relationships stronger than before,

Of fortifying my own spirit against the fractures of the past.

So, while I have a knack for breaking things,

I am learning, slowly, the art of making,

Of transforming what was once broken into something beautiful,

Embracing breaking not as an end, but as a beginning,

A paradoxical path to rejuveneation and renewal.