My Shattered Self
A poem
A poem
you tell me
to pick up the pieces
but do you have any idea
how sharp the shards of me have become?
the fractures that slice through my skin,
the jagged edges that tear at my heart,
they are not easily mended, not quickly healed.
you speak of picking up the pieces,
as if it were a simple task, a chore to be done.
but these pieces, they are the very essence of me,
shattered fragments of my once-whole being.
to gather them, to try to fit them back together,
would be to risk further injury, deeper wounds.
for in my brokenness, i have become something new,
a mosaic of scars and sorrows, resilience and rage.
so do not ask me to pick up the pieces,
as if they were mere trinkets to be collected.
instead, bear witness to my transformation,
this metamorphosis born of pain’s fiery forge.
for in time, these shards will smooth, will temper,
becoming the foundation of a stronger self.
but for now, let me be, let me forge my own path
through this landscape of fractured vulnerability.
in the end, it is not about picking up the pieces,
but about learning to walk amidst the shards,
to find beauty in the broken, power in the scarred
this is the journey i must take, alone.
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