Crown Made of Cracks

Cracked, bent, bruised and broke,

Grief in my throat like secondhand smoke.

Cut the noose you invoke,

Laugh at the edge with your hands about to choke.

I’m the poet, the artist, the ghost in the frame,

Turned pain to a palette and now I paint my name.

Born in the wreckage, baptised in the ash,

Took the weight of the world and I turned it to cash.

I’m a comet, a prophet, with a crown made of cracks,

Spark flames that burn your lies and crucify your “facts”.

I’m the riddle, the rebel, the shadows that you fight,

I’m the dawn breaking open, I’m the thief in the night.

You thought I’d stay shattered, thought I’d bend,

But I’m back with a vengeance, I’m the start, I’m the end.