I can’t.
Yes, it’s true.
I can’t do anything right.
My talents seem to be
cleverly painted mistakes.
My rough edges are really
only broken pieces—
splinters of good intentions—
shards of hopeless attempts.
I can’t.—
The phrase is a sin because it ended
three words early. Shall I finish it?
I can’t— but God can.
He takes the brush I used to paint flowers over my mistakes
and turns each one into some beautiful gift.
He planned a use for every broke piece,
every splinter,
every shard.
To him, they are not the rubble left after my selfish endeavors;
they are pieces of a puzzle He is crafting and solving all at once.
Useful.
Beautiful.
I can’t.
But God can.
His Beloved's Desert Place 
Beautifully put into words! I’ve written a few poetic attempts myself. I hope you read them and give me advice. I hope to be better in writing 🙂
Thank you for reading! I’ll be sure to check out some of your work, although I really don’t think I could give advice. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m doing myself when it comes to writing poetry. 🙂