I remember when the world broke in,
To rip apart my soul,
For years after that one event,
I thought myself not whole,
My hours were spent with trying,
To fix it up with tape and glue,
Until one day I discovered,
Everyone else is broken too,
Here we were with pieces,
Of ourselves and both our hands,
So fragile and so open,
That I began to understand,
Maybe I'd been greedy,
To want my soul to myself,
When it could be a lot more helpful,
In the palms of someone else,
Now every time I go somewhere,
I leave part of me behind,
And collect all the pieces,
Of other souls that I can find,
So when I'm meeting someone new,
it's not just me they get
But also the tiny fragments,
Of all the others that I met,
And my life's become much bigger,
Now that it's home to things so small,
And if this is what " broken" means,
I do not mind at all.
