Mosaic

The reality is that my rigidness

Is cause for most of my cracks

My unwillingness to bend

Until even living

Grows too much to bear

So I break

How many times will I

Try to connect the pieces

Before I become more flexible

Am I only doomed

To pour my contents over the flames

And mold myself anew.

To be left with a murky mess

And somehow call it existing.

The first time I shattered

I reached down

My fingers ran against the shards

Searching for the rose-colored pieces

But they were missing.

So instead, I collected

Pieces from others along the way

And connected them to the shell that remained.

And as it were their shiny parts

Stood out against the gray and dust-covered dirty parts.

Until I couldn’t recognize

What it was I had become.

If only I could return

The borrowed pieces

So as not to damage them

And grind what is left

Into a fine powder,

Sweep it into the sea

Scattered and forgotten

At the bottom of the ocean.

Would that give me peace?

And so it went

Until I could no longer stand

Looking at an unfamiliar reflection

So I broke once more

And laid all of myself before my eyes

Separating my parts from theirs.

I washed and scrubbed

The dirt and filth from my shards

Until they shone like the others

And even found some original ones

Along the way.

I sifted through the pieces

From my companions

And chose the ones that matched me best

And when I was ready

I kindled the fire once again.