Shattered Me

Viewing myself as broken pieces shattered on the ground

This past year I have had to pick each piece

And glue it back together.

Painfully picking up each piece with bloody hands

And individually lathering it with a substance

Stronger than super-glue:

Self-love.

Which piece fits where?

I try to bind my current state

To my childhood

Without focusing on the torture from adolescence.

But like the wrong puzzle pieces

They do not fit.

The more I wait

The bloodier the pieces become

And harder to tell

Which memory

Belongs where.

So I must work quickly

Before I cannot remember myself any longer.

Pain.

I feel pain from my bloody finger-tips

Cut from the act of prodding parts of myself.

I am being threatened

By the darkness

To not do this.

LIVE IN DENIAL

He screams.

AREN'T YOU ASHAMED OF WHO YOU ARE?

No.

Am I? Maybe now.

But once I build myself... once again

I will be strong and

Able to take steps towards light.

My arms ache from the weight of the act

But from this my biceps spawn

Laying their eggs through cells

And ripping as they get firmer.

I take a step back now and view my masterpiece

Not a work of art but

A piece of a mast.

It is not complete

But getting bigger

Taking the form of something that is not entirely alive

But breathing.

(Most of this was written several weeks ago. Strange how perspective and mentality are so fickle.)