The beauty of being shattered is how the shards become our character and our marks of distinction. This is how we are refined by our pain. When the storm rips you to pieces, you get to decide how to put yourself back together again. The storm gives us the gift of our defining choices. You will be a different person after the storm, because the storm will heal you from your perfection. People who stay perfect and unblemished never really get to live fully or deeply. You will not be the same after the storms of life; you will be stronger, wiser and more alive than ever before!
The storm is out there and every one of us must eventually face the storm. When the storm comes, pray that it will shake you to your roots and break you wide-open. Being broken open by the storm is your only hope. When you are broken open you get to discover for the first time what is inside you. Some people never get to see what is inside them; what beauty, what strength, what truth and love. They were never broken open by the storm. So, don't run from your pain — run into your pain. Let life's storm shatter you.
A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.
My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of YOU.
Your eyes are hallow,Your heart is bruised,Your temple has been raided,Your soul has been shattered,Was he worth it?
...my ability to trust had been shattered into splinters, its fragmented shards slicing through every darkened recess of my mind, his absolution won my over all the more.
Expectations led to disappointments; in this family, expecting more than disappointment was the first mistake
Instead of saying, I'm damaged, I'm broken, I have trust issues say I'm healing, I'm rediscovering myself, I'm starting over.
Fornication and adultery unleash destructive consequences into a person's life:• Poverty,• Lack of perception,• Loss of respect and mutual acceptance,• Children with shattered futures,• Dullness of the senses and of the intellect,• Deterioration of health.
Eons ago, the creative genius of God foresaw that it would take the shattered pieces of my ‘yesterday’ to construct the sturdy portal to my ‘tomorrow.
Images of broken light dance behind my eyelids. How could this giant lamp compare to the sun?Everything is wrong here. Shattered. Broken.Like the light.Like me.I never thought about how important the sky was until I didn’t have one.I am surrounded by walls.I have just replaced one box for another.
If you want to heal a broken heart,Be smart! That's all an ancient art.Start by loving the very small partsThat were left there shattered apart.
I feel like I am a diluted version of myself. A piece of crayon that was left unused. An abandoned car that was forgotten by its owner. I feel like I am a roadside accident. People are just stopping by to see the damage, but no one is trying to help me. I want you to come back and stop me from burning my own fuel. I want you to put me back in the pack of crayons. I want you to make me whole again.
We are broken. Our ways are apart.Still we laugh together and taunt.We fight and get hurt...Still we don't stop!We spread love among us,With the scent of believe.We write on live.Our dreams are shattered.We think to move on,But scared to miss each other.We smirk when someone scolds,But we drink a jar of poison each time.We die and born everyday.We rely on each other.We get furious.We tease and never step back.We listen but never act on.For public we are mature,But among us we are childish.We act like ninjas among us.And we love to stay like this...Among us forever!Because we are siblings.
The past is but an untraceable footfallIt appears in intervals and pushes us back in time,In those moments of grief and then suddenly vanishes.It’s often dark and ruthless.It baffles our thoughts and seizes our peace of mind.By making us recollect our failures, our buried expectationsAnd our shattered dreams It only gives way to fleeting tears, leaving us with fruitless guilt.It wrecks our present and ruins our futureAnd thus should be left where it is meant to beIt should be left behind …
And as she fell apart, her shattered pieces began to bloom — blossoming until she became herself exactly as she was meant to be...
She was so shattered about what kind of man he was -- brutal, tender, passionate. There was little doubt he had some mental disorder.
We've been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we're supposed to. But it's a lie, it's all a lie; every person, place, thing and idea is a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe.
I, on the other hand, felt as I always have, like I were water seeping from a broken pot; I existed but had no form to hold me in place.
A lame creature, a cripple like myself, has no right to love. How should I, broken, shattered being that I am, be anything but a burden to you, when to myself I am an object of disgust, of loathing. A creature such as I, I know, has no right to love, and certainly no right to be loved. It is for such a creature to creep away into a corner and die and cease to make other people's lives a burden with her presence.
This planet is a broken bone that didn’t set right, a hundred pieces of crystal glued together. We’ve been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we’re supposed to. But it’s a lie, it’s all a lie.
Tell them about how you're never really a whole person if you remain silent, because there's always that one little piece inside you that wants to be spoken out, and if you keep ignoring it, it gets madder and madder and hotter and hotter, and if you don't speak it out one day it will just up and punch you in the mouth from the inside.
She felt as if the mosaic she had been assembling out of life's little shards got dumped to the ground, and there was no way to put it back together.
Even though on the outside we glittered like gold, inside we were almost as black as coal. Sometimes the glitter people saw was only the shattered pieces reflecting among the broken glass.
Seriously, how many times can a person break before the only things left are shattered fragments too small to piece back together?
When one's life has been shattered into a million pieces, most set out to pick up the pieces & rebuild. Others look at those broken pieces & decide this is their opportunity to start anew, the bigger picture comes into view. They see more, & want better so they leave those pieces scattered as a memorial to who they used to be!