Cracks in The Frame

I had a picture once.

Everything straight.

Everything clean.

Then life put its hands on it.

Good.

I had the lines drawn straight,

had the years laid out,

Knew where I'd be before I knew what life was about,

Then the frame got bent and the colors ran,

And nothing looked much like the original plan.

Some doors slammed.

Some people changed.

Some nights left marks

That don't wash away.

But somewhere underneath what didn't go right,

The picture got ugly—

Then somehow got mine.

So leave the scratches.

Leave that crooked line.

You can keep the perfect picture—

I like the cracks in mine.

That's the beautiful part of the damage,

The part nobody planned,

Every crooked little road That made me who I am.

I don't want it polished.

Don't straighten every line.

You can keep the perfect picture— I LIKE THE CRACKS IN MINE.

I've got stories that don't photograph clean,

Years that disappear somewhere in between,

Names scratched out, plans crossed through,

Things I would've changed— Till I saw what they grew into.

Funny how the scar becomes part of the face,

How the wrong damn turn becomes your favorite place,

How the thing you once would've erased from sight Ends up being

the part That catches the light.

Don't fix that corner.

Don't paint that wall.

Don't clean up the evidence

That I lived here at all.

I don't need beautiful

If beautiful means— Untouched.

Give me something that's been somewhere.

Maybe I didn't ruin the picture.

Maybe... I finally got in it.

THE BEAUTIFUL PART OF THE DAMAGE!

Every break! Every bend!

Every place where the picture

Didn't come out like I meant!

Let the piano run!

Let the violins climb!

Let the horns hit back While the whole beat flies!

I wouldn't trade every wrong For one perfect line— YOU CAN KEEP

THE PERFECT PICTURE! I'll keep— THE CRACKS IN MINE.