I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...

"We don't see things as they are. We see things as we are."

I've lost a piece of myself today
I've left pieces of me here and there
and maybe everywhere.
Can I rebuild myself?

A jagged piece is all that's left of me
It has sharp edges and cuts deeply
Don't mean for it to happen
Just trying to guard this last piece of me.

If I collect all the pieces I've lost of mine
Can I rebuild this broken heart in time?
Or I could leave every ripped off piece of me
and just guard the last, sharp, jagged piece and fly free?

Poetry is a dark horse that suddenly ignites

The light at the end of the tunnel is actually a sense of worth, of value, of relevance... a sense of purpose and place.
The loss of these took me here.
It is not a light that those in the tunnel control... seemingly forever beyond my reach and unable to believe in value, place or worth.
It was never the aim to switch the light off. It was the hand and judgement of others that threw the switch to off. It is why the light and the switch are on the outside of the tunnel and not in the darkness where I am.
If you give no worth...
If you give no value...
If you give no relevance...
If you give no purpose...
Then there can be no place where the light can shine.

When someone tells you that you have wounded their soul you can't mend the wounds by denying or arguing you didn't.
Their soul, their wound... your conscience.