Look, can't you see
all these little pieces of me?
I don't always know when something breaks,
sometimes it bends, cracks, or shakes.
Yes, I'm quite twisty,
but don't get your eyes all misty,
I know I'll be fine,
that's how I've made
myself to be,
with the leftover pieces of me.
The pieces are good,
and if you don't understand,
maybe you should.
I pick them up,
I will pull them together,
then hand them out,
pretending they're treasure.
They might not be
as precious,
but I will try
to give them value,
and maybe they could mean just as much,
if I give them to you.
Are you sad?
Oh, me too,
I'll hand one to you,
I've decided you're better,
you're the priority,
in me vs. you.
Sometimes I find them,
hiding in corners,
cowering, hurting, forgotten,
their purpose taken away,
when you left them to stay.
I will take the broken ones,
I will fix them up,
I will make some more,
but these ones
I beg that you do not ignore.
Why do I live?
Maybe so I can give.
Sure, I guess it hurts,
but I can hide that pain
behind the sleeve of a shirt.
Don't tell me I matter,
tell me I don't,
if you did otherwise,
I would know it was all lies.
It's fine,
I realize,
It's my fault,
I'm the one doing it,
shoving my feelings into that pit.
Truth of it all,
I've always known,
I am doing the breaking,
and the bending,
and the twisting.
I'll hurt myself,
just for you,
I'm in pieces,
but I believe
I can make it through.
