They say your eyes are the mirror to your soul.

Well, mine are leaking gold.

You say I'm made in sin, and have nothing good within, but my Creator borrowed from the stars when He formed my heart.

My fists are clenched in darkness. My broken body knows not rest, but the weight of grief tucked neatly in my bones instead.

Tears well up and spill down my cheeks leaving streaks of the divine.

I am made of something beautiful, something holy, something kind.

There is gold leaking from my eyes that brokenness cannot define.