Kintsugi

A work of art that remembers exactly where it broke.

Photo by SIMON LEE on Unsplash

This took longer and was more of a struggle than expected. Sometimes, we have to let the ideas steep for a bit. Without further ado, my contribution to Nimila’s prompt.

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You handed me shame
like it was my birthright.

Wrapped it up soft.
Told me,
this is yours now.

I swallowed it whole,
let it sit
heavy in my ribs.
Learned how to walk
without it spilling;
learned how to smile
with a mouth full of it.

But shame rots.

It festers quiet,
sweet at first,
then metallic,
taking every space.

So, I cut it out.

Not delicate,
don’t make
me gentle.

I dug in,
hands shaking,
and did not stop.

I carved
until I found it,
slick and stubborn,
stitched into places
that died
so it could live.

It did not
want to go—
tore
on the way out.
Left me open,
ravaged,
mine.

I could have left
it there,
split,
proof
of what was done to me.

Instead,
I filled the fracture with joy.

Not hushed velvet,
but joy you drag in,
bleeding,
laughing,
feral.

I pressed it in
like gold leaf
over bone.

Look at me.

Look.

I made the cut
and lived.

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© 2026 Autumn Giberson. All rights reserved.

Inspired by Nimila’s prompt “THE CUT”