I have been shattered into a thousand pieces
And those who love puzzles have tried to piece me back together,
Each confident they made me whole,
Manipulating some of the pieces that wouldn’t fit and wedging them in to fill in the gaps,
Not realizing that each time I was taken apart,
That I couldn’t be the same.
And some pieces no longer belonged.
And it pained me to have someone mold me to their idea of completion.
When all I needed was to be received with holes, broken, and left over pieces.
Because I had it all written out, perfect, pretty, pristine as I captured that exact moment God could possibly accidentally show himself to me and with a light graze of soft lovers fingers hit the red button that ejects only those exact accidentally beautiful moments, I shout “F Me” kicking my feet on the ground like the heart broken emotional 3 year old who had accidentally dropped his just perfectly scooped chocolate ice cream and must succumb to writing a maniacal rant of stream of pretentious metaphors about my hurt to replace what might of left a slightly upturned one sided content smile instead of a bitter taste.