some people are just old puzzle pieces
that no longer fit in these jigsaw puzzles — my palms.
i run high on its comfort —
i am no longer the dead air between my riddled words —
i am the rust growing in the tips of my steel bed —
such lackadaisical sight,
it is nothing like
cigarettes ashes falling on azalea flowers —
it's of no cinematic appeal.
i am a storm in a state of catharsis;
feel the last bits of softness break away from my skin.
i have outgrown my body
and its desperate need
to mimick the prettiest poems.
i still bleed, and it looks nowhere like sunsets;
i don't have to look like one —
feel like one.
die like one.
i am all these things. i am everything
but the puzzle of who i was —
like a mess of relics, blurring altogether
into one hazy memory.
these fragile bones come together
into something whole
something breathing.
something human.
and i am no longer a puzzle
that breaks at the feel of careless hands.
i run high on this comfort.
i run high on this clarity.
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 3:18 AM UTC
some people are just old puzzle pieces
that no longer fit in these jigsaw puzzles — my palms.
i run high on its comfort —
i am no longer the dead air between my riddled words —
i am the rust growing in the tips of my steel bed —
such lackadaisical sight,
it is nothing like
cigarettes ashes falling on azalea flowers —
it's of no cinematic appeal.
i am a storm in a state of catharsis;
feel the last bits of softness break away from my skin.
i have outgrown my body
and its desperate need
to mimick the prettiest poems.
i still bleed, and it looks nowhere like sunsets;
i don't have to look like one —
feel like one.
die like one.
i am all these things. i am everything
but the puzzle of who i was —
like a mess of relics, blurring altogether
into one hazy memory.
these fragile bones come together
into something whole
something breathing.
something human.
and i am no longer a puzzle
that breaks at the feel of careless hands.
i run high on this comfort.
i run high on this clarity.
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