I guess you could say
that I feel broken.

it's this feeling where
I'm in the room,
and you can see me,
but I'm not here.

it's kind of like
I left pieces of me
everywhere I went.

I dropped my
idea of safety
while I was running.

it landed on the corner
of Morris Park
and Fillmore street,
and was tainted by
my friend's blood
pouring out onto
the concrete.

I didn't want it back.

my innocence was
left shivering
on the pool table
in my first
boyfriend's basement.

I remember thinking
that this was the
right place to
leave it, and
then crying once
I realized it was gone.

my faith in humanity
was lost too.

it fell somewhere
between the cracks
in all of this violence,
and was swallowed
by the fog of dust
and debris.

I don't know
where the rest of me
disappeared to.

maybe I gave too much
of myself away
when I tried to help
everyone else,
and ended up
forgetting to
help myself.

or maybe
I left those pieces
with the people
I loved, in the
places where
we used to go.

maybe, if you looked,
you could still find me

in my laughter
echoing under
the streetlights

or hidden deep
in the shadows
where we used
to park our cars

or floating towards
the sky in a cloud
of marijuana smoke

or stuck to the lips
of someone I loved once.

but maybe,
there's a chance
that all of me is still here,
even though I feel
so broken.

maybe I'm not incomplete.

maybe I am still enough,
even with all of these
missing pieces.

and maybe, one day,
I will find myself again.