shards of me

to break bad

or to break even—

i have fragmented myself

all the same.

the pieces of me that once connected

are broken, and i can’t find myself

in their reflections anymore.

when i was together, and whole,

was i truly able to see myself

from the other side?

or was i an amalgamation of what

i wanted others to see in me?

to break clean

is not something i could have done

breaking is messy

and hard and painful and sharp

and the pieces of me jab and hurt

they are unforgiving

i am unforgiving

because i didn’t want to break

i wanted peace, even in war

i wanted comfort, even in a lie

i wanted a home in others

instead of within myself

the easy way out

is the only way in

and the only way i’d ever known

but i lost it

and now i stand

with shards of myself in my hands

my delusion cutting into my fingers

my past slicing into my skin

and i let it

i let myself bleed

and i feed the earth

with the power of my shattered soul

and i am lost and alone

yet intent to find

rather than to be found