Broken Shards

Pieces of me linger,

From the Southern Sands to the Northern Heights.

Reflections cast themselves in the minds of all who knew me.

One shard, a soft pink haze,

Willing to love and be loved with ease.

Another shard of misty blue,

An aura of sadness overwhelming... engulfing like the tides of the ocean.

The sharpest shard,

Black and red intertwined with the anger and spite of a child left forgotten too many times.

Too many minds, each with their own shard of me,

Struggling to understand why...

Why I am not this reflection they claim to know so well.

Why I am not casting the shade of the shard they cling to out of desperation to remain involved.

They don’t seem to understand that I am merely the mirror.

I am reflective of the light they incessantly bounce against me;

Of the actions and words they fling at me.

So carelessly ignorant are they to the fact that with each flick of the tongue

And every cruelty they throw at me,

I break.

I shatter.

Until they are left only with a shard of me, reflective of who they made me to be.

A sparkling indigo of mystery.

A hot red passion.

But I am the mirror...

Reflective of the rainbow in Her complexity.

Shards of me linger,

From the Southern Shores to the Northern Peaks.

But I am whole within myself,

Content in knowing and owning the many reflections that I am.

I am not your sad blue,

Nor your loving pink.

Not your mysterious indigo,

Or your passionate red.

I am of all colors,

Of all reflections.

I am of the Rainbow herself,

Happily complex.