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Nicole Dawn  Aug 2015
Puzzle
Nicole Dawn Aug 2015
I don't believe our lives are a puzzle
No--
I believe that life is a puzzle

The difference is
That you do not have the whole puzzle
Like some people think

You are one piece
In a larger puzzle
You fit next to some people
And not next to others

But it's not quite that simple
It's life we're talking about,
After all

You see,
Sometimes people change shape
So even if you used to fit next to them,
You may not be able to anymore

In fact,
Sometimes they have moved to the other side of the puzzle
And they are gone
They no longer complete
The picture you are creating

And sometimes,
You change so much
That you don't fit the puzzle anymore
That is how I feel

But don't jump to conclusions,
If you leave the puzzle too early,
The person you would have fit next to
No longer has anyone to complete their picture

So as you can see,
Your life is not a puzzle
You are a mere puzzle piece
Life itself is the puzzle
dennis gunsteen Jun 2010
all feeling are pieces of puzzle.
you see love is like a puzzle.
you try to find the right piece
to fit right spot.
if you break the woman
heart.from start you try to find
the right words  to say.sure
my man love is real
but at times.
got to have that game down
an them  ducky.
an walk that walk.
an talk that talk.
is part of this puzzle too.
on building that puzzle
of life .truely i'am not
a player at heart.
it would be nice
to have all the honey.
but i play to deferrent
tune in life. love is like
puzzle.some time it  fall apart
you have work at the  puzzle.
an find them right move
grip that woman
because she  have them keys
to your heart. this true
my man.the woman
have power of love
over a man heart.
but we  have to make that.
puzzle right.you see ?
so she is happy.we but
puzzle pieces in life.
think about this
puzzle.
Olivia  Oct 2018
- Puzzle -
Olivia Oct 2018
You are the missing piece of my puzzle.

That’s what you once said.
That’s what I once believed.
But I guess you could finish your puzzle without me
Because I’m no longer by your side.
You threw me away.
Maybe I belong to another puzzle,
Because I didn’t belong to you.

I just want to be enough,
I just want to find my place in this world.
What role am I supposed to play?
This is the only thing I will ask today.
Because I know you don’t like when I talk.
I was supposed to be a part of the puzzle,
Not another puzzle.
I was supposed to complete you,
Not to be your equal.
We are not the same.
But at least I’m useful.
And I’ll be useful to somebody else.
I let you flirting,
Try to find another piece,
Because I’m not compatible with you,
Because I’m not yours
And I don’t want to be yours.
I want to be my own puzzle.
And even if I’m only a piece of a puzzle,
I will fight.

Because you’re not a puzzle without me,
But I’m a piece without you.
Kelly Bitangcol May 2016
I remember you telling me before that you saw yourself as a jigsaw puzzle.* I never understood you then because why would you compare yourself with a thing that requires pieces. You explained that you have 6 pieces in you, pieces that made you, created you. Pieces that were the reason for the person you are today, pieces that helped you function, in other words, pieces that made you whole. That was why you called yourself as a 6 piece jigsaw puzzle. But then one day, you told me all of those pieces were missing. You said someone or something took it away from you and you have no idea how to get them back. You explained to me thoroughly how they were removed from you. The first piece was removed when you were in your room one night, hearing your parents fight, yelling and arguing, telling hurtful things to each other. So you decided to put some headphones on and played some music so you wouldn’t hear their shouts but then they barged into your room saying one of them is leaving and you have to decide which one of them you are coming with, you pretended to not hear them but deep inside of you, even though how loud the volume was, it suddenly stopped without you muting it, because all you could hear was their love for each other slowly fading away. The second piece was removed when one day some unwanted visitors came into your house and they told you they call themselves as demons and that they brought you things that you cannot possibly return; you opened the boxes and see that those things were called depression and anxiety. The third piece was removed when your so called best friends told you they were always there for you but when you were sitting on a bathroom floor filled with blood and hopelessness nobody came to pick you up.  The fourth piece was removed when you someone told you they will help you find those lost pieces but one day she was just not there, and instead of finding the missing ones, one of the remaining was lost again. The fifth piece was removed when you saw him, the love of your life, loving another being that wasn’t you and when you asked why he told you he just couldn’t deal with someone who was like a puzzle that wasn’t solved, you were about to tell him you were once the one he was looking for but then he told you, oh scratch it, a puzzle that could never be solved. And the last and final piece was removed, because life took it away from you. And then suddenly all of those pieces were lost.


I want to help you, i want to do everything just to find those pieces. But you’ve got to help yourself also. You are the biggest help you need, and maybe, just maybe, those pieces can be found in the most unexpected places. Perhaps the first piece can be found when you’re listening to your favourite song and the lyrics felt like blankets that comfort you when it’s cold and suddenly it felt like home. First piece found. Perhaps it’s the feeling of waking up at 5:30 in the morning, feeling ******, and when you went outside, you saw the sunrise, and realised that somehow you can rise again like that. Second piece found. Maybe it was sitting in a cafe, sipping unnecessary caffeine, looking at the people who were passing in front of you, thinking of how much they’ve been through, and still surviving like you, and somehow that made you feel better, that’s why your face formed an unnecessary smile. Third piece found. Maybe it was when it rained so hard, but it doesn’t compare to your tears, you cried and cried, as the rain poured and poured, then the rain suddenly stopped and the sky formed a rainbow, you looked at it and think that maybe your tears can form colours too. Fourth piece found. Perhaps it’s when you can’t sleep at night, so you just look at your scars, before you thought they were ugly and disgusting, they did nothing to you but made you remember how much of a mess you are, but now you look at them in a different way, they weren’t battle scars, because battle was an understatement on how difficult the things they had overcome. And now you see them as a reminder of how much of a soldier you are. Fifth piece found. And maybe, it was when you decided to go to an art museum, you were fascinated by the wonderful paintings, then you thought, you used to be like those works of art; beautiful and important. But then you suddenly heard one painting, whispering you something, it said, a masterpiece is still a masterpiece no matter how broken it is. Sixth piece, and final piece, found.


So, darling, If by means life took those away from you, you should do everything to get those back. And yes, you will tell me, nothing can bring back those pieces anymore, but you can be a puzzle piece that is solved without the pieces you had before, you can find those pieces without asking for help, you can find those on your own, you can make pieces all by yourself. It doesn’t matter how fast you puzzled it out, the only thing that matters is that you solved it. *You solved the jigsaw puzzle. You solved you.
  **And guess what? You will be whole again. You will realise you always was, and that is the reason you will not let anyone or anything, change that again.
parker  Sep 2017
the cupboard.
parker Sep 2017
the cupboard held many things.
the large cabinet sat to the right of drawers full of mystery, climbing the left side and bottom, just big enough to hold small things like paper and office supplies. but it did not hold what most people deemed regular.
the knobs were made of something out of a dream. candy like almost- no,
candy glass. and they paired very well with the midnight brown wood of the cupboard sat in front of them.
the top left drawer held small things. coins and sewing string. the wonderful jingle of coins and the comforting touch of silky yarn drew in the curious searcher. nothing much else sat in this drawer.
the middle one was more unusual than the previous. holding small trophies and metals, why, there were so many! how did they all fit in the shallow drawer? all of them for different things: sports, pie eating, spelling bees, you name it. but the names on the awards were all scratched out. who would do such a thing?
the bottom drawer was sure to hold more promising items. squaring down they open the drawer to find a puzzle. a puzzle with a few pieces missing, but a puzzle none the less. it looked like it was put together right in the drawer, years ago, as the jigsaw was covered in dust. as they try to wipe away the dust, it appears they cannot. the puzzle has no picture, it is merely a grey puzzle, completely grey. how boring! and not even completed! they shut the drawer in confusion and move on.
finally it was time. time for the cabinet. once more the glassy knobs call to them as they open it to see what treasure awaited them. a look of wonder smiles back at them as they open the cabinet, then it drops. a mirror. they were looking at their own reflection! out of all the things it could have been! they turn away from the cupboard, betrayed and upset, and when they turn to look back at it, the
mirror. what was wrong with the mirror? they weren't putting on that face were they? it smiled too wide, and a look of mania shook through the eyes of their reflection. a knife. where? oh wait, no! the smile only grew as the reflection drove a knife into its own neck, velvet blood flowing out as their eyes turned to black, but it felt like staring into the sun. quickly, they slam the door, horrified of what they've seen: their own body mutilated. it felt like something was dying in their chest. but only because it was. a hole sat in their chest where their heart used to sit. it hurt. not much, but it felt like something was leaking out of them. and as they look to find their heart, the realize that it's gone.
quickly and desperately they scour the drawers.
the bottom drawer was first. maybe it was sat on top of the puzzle or the puzzle would give a clue. it didn't matter the reasoning, the drawer was already open and nearly empty except for the missing pieces from before. just as dreadfully grey as the rest of the puzzle. suddenly, the memory leaks out of them. confusion rains down on them as they try to remember where they are, what they're doing, why their chest hurts. the puzzle pieces are no longer grey, but red from the blood pouring out of their chest. why are they bleeding? what are these jigsaw pieces doing here? as they lift it up the red and grey mix, becoming a flesh color, the same as their skin. the pieces fly up and clamp against the hole in their chest, trying to crawl inside. then it clicks, their heart! they kick the drawer shut and the pieces scour across the floor with the deep red of blood, lifelessly. they needed to keep searching! what was the next drawer? ah yes, the middle one!
they always hesitate on the middle drawer. and they hesitate, because they forget what is sat in it. but they think it can't be worse than the last one, right? how foolish they were. they look down and open the drawer and as they see the faux gold and stiff red ribbon they remember. awards. they forgot the awards. suddenly metals of all kind, old and new, bronze and gold, spring up and latch around the throats of their unsuspecting victims. weighing them down as they're choked endlessly. they fall the their knees and the cupboard seems to grow a hundred feet. oh if only they could reach the drawer to shut it! panic runs through their body and the floor sways beneath them, the achievements of others dragging them closer to death and failure, when suddenly the drawer shuts. the metals around their neck (now dented and *****) limply release their grip on their neck as they realize, it was their hand that shut the drawer. it still sat their, burning with grief as they realize, they shut down someone else's achievements. they rub their hands to try to shake off the regret, lingering in their mouth and hands. or was that the metallic taste of blood? when did they start bleeding? then, they get an urge. it pushes them up, up to where the top left drawer is. everything inside them says no, but the regret and pain in their finger tips needs to know what's in the last drawer, needs to feel more pain to replace the guilt. more pain than was already emitting from the hole in their chest and their bleeding hands. more.
as they desperately reach inside the top left drawer again for anything lovely at all, they're left with nothing but pain. as the sewing needles ***** at their fingertips so too does the feeling of greed. the feeling to need money. the elegant cupboard seemed to whisper, "money is everything, you are nothing without money. money is everything, you are nothing without money." over and over again. and in horrifying agony they close the last drawer, the last of they wonder that once filled their body: drained. they step back from the cupboard and it's viscous ways. and glance at the handles again. the very knobs that lured them in.
then, they realized the knobs were not candy like, but more similar to the glazed eye of a man found dead, or of an abusive father, drunk again. they were cold to the touch like the abuse of a mother and spat acid that burned like the tears falling down their face as they realized, the tears were real.
they close the drawers and release their hands in horror as they vow to never touch those nightmarish handles again, running away in fear to realize, they never found their heart. their run turns into a stumble until the suddenly slump over against a wall. the only thing they can think about is the pain, the tears, the cupboard, the drawers, the cabinet, their reflection. and just like that, they're gone.
Simon Oct 2019
What’s happened! A voice remarked. Why are my puzzle pieces scattered in a wasteland? Another voice spoke up, sounding distant. That’s what I’d like to know! Then more followed. Sounding like a choir of different voices were in effect. Except none of the voices sounded cheery in their perfect chorus on cue. A shriek followed. A wasteland full of shrieks rumbled the ground. Ejecting lots of dust. Blinding visibility across a wide landscape! A landscape full of sand. Governing a deadly waste scouring a dryness accumulating pieces of voices not to far off from one another. Dust from the shrieks rumbling the ground, finally clear. Settling a glimpse at what has been shrieking with such volumes of obscure reasoning. Puzzle…PIECES! Huh? Who said that…? The voice asked, completely taken off guard. What instrument are we trying to provide here? Not sure I’m exactly wondering what your trying to offer by the term (instrument)? Having instruments aren’t folly you know. Another voice interrupting the other voices conversing nonsense. You guys do realize non of what your saying is making any practical sense? Like…at ALL! Huh? One voice replied. Another joining in. Well if your so clever…why don’t you entertain us with how things should really be voiced? Gladly! The more logical voice commented. The voice acting snobbish made a sound. Showcasing it didn’t like being told what it knew and what it didn’t know. The dust has settled. The two voices conversing said on cue. Your point…? No logic, until you display your horizons onto the landscape which shows what we are. One voice replied confused. Logic? Another responded. Horizons? Then on cue again. Landscape??!! The logical voice continued. Just looking around the landscape, which introduces the horizon of who, what, and where you are. Making the logical assessment that, well…everything…is what should have been since the very beginning. Panting for just a single moment. Without claim or focus…the end! The two conversing voices completely dumbfounded, sighed very harshly! Finally deciding to take the more logical one’s words more seriously. Other voices following on cue. Which made all voices look down toward there surroundings. The logical one smiled brightly! AHHH! Another shriek came. O…JEEESSSUUUSSS!!! More shrieks accumulated the wasteland. Prompting more dust to rumble. Popping all over the horizon’s visibility again! So, what did we learn about this very confusing, obscuring display? Well…easy! A voice said from no where. That it was a display of nurturing. Huh…? Really? The one sounding like the narrator drawn in by the voices interest. Ya, well… They stopped to rethink what they just offered in response. Your hesitating. The narrator’s voice sounding suspicious. Ya, well… Not sure how to express what I saw. Still remaining suspicious, the narrator continued. Anda…what is it…you exactly…saw…? The voice from no where exploded all built up energy in one gigantic spurt! There was puzzle pieces scattered in a wasteland! They had no identity to speak of. Pieces deconstructed in a sand covered landscape full of dry essence. And…and… They stopped mid-thought to catch their breath! The narrator didn’t speak a word. The dust was symbolizing ones missing grasp at not figuring out they were all apart of the same form. The same essence. Drying out claims too full of themselves through partial reasoning on potential agreements never going anywhere. Mmmmm…mhm…mmmmm… The narrator seemingly amused by this information. No identity, means no way of connecting to one another. Never to make sense of the premise one could offer. Puzzle pieces stuck in the sands of dry essence. A rut too involved to be just any coincidence. The dry essence covering up each puzzle piece. Muffling there voices forever. They tried to reach out. Trying to make sense of (what could have been). Rather then how to assort their differences into one claim. Working together wasn’t this identities strongpoint. Pieces were arguing too much. Until one seemed to be the most offering of the bunch. Thou…thou… Go on. The narrator said. No one listened to them. Following in the footsteps of one foolish puzzle piece after the other. Until there was nothing to be left, but silence. The voice from no where shrieked towards the narrator’s glaring tension toward the speaker. Laughing in disgust toward the potential risk one poses when reaching out toward its other component pieces.
Puzzle pieces will never learn if each piece doesn’t know how to direct oneself, before connecting with the bigger, more established form. Which is rendered to a mere silhouette full of details invoking a nothingness claim.
Alaska Young Oct 2013
I found a puzzle piece on the floor.
I cherished it. I spent time with it.
We biked through the streets,
and even cuddled under the sheets.

I found more puzzle pieces on the floor.
I picked them up. But I knew I had to stop.
I had a special piece, the first.
You just happened to satisfy my thirst.

These puzzle pieces I found once on the floor;
I was wrong. They were a lyrics to a song.
I set you down for a little while,
and deciphered the puzzle with a smile.

I found a lot more pieces on the floor.
Telling the story. Relieving my worry.
But there was something I did forget,
that first piece I was able to get.

The puzzle pieces joined together on the floor.
Making an image. Erasing the damage.
And when it was about to be complete,
a piece seemed to be missing, even under my feet.

My puzzle pieces lie on the floor.
Never a picture. It was nothing but a rapture.
For the piece that started it all,
was in a place where I could not crawl.
Nick Durbin  Sep 2012
Puzzle
Nick Durbin Sep 2012
Somehow I scrounge through these jumbled words in my notebooks and I piece together this puzzle.
When connected it forms some idea of who I am - my brain... my heart...
it personifies my existence, so to speak.
Although, like all puzzles even when put together as a whole to form a landscape or object,
the cracks from the pieces are still present...
Now, from afar people wouldn't notice these cracks -
these blemishes in the photo,
but like a collage when up close, it becomes more evident -
the imperfections become more radiant or profound...
The glue so to speak for this picture of words - this illustration of life would be -
it is those cracks, those blemishes that make a puzzle - a puzzle... and a person - a person.  
Each individual, as everyone knows, has different life experiences, different scars to form different pieces to make up their own unique puzzle.
One piece may be interpreted through skills or hobbies and another with goals.
Each and every second of a persons' life could ultimately be a piece of a puzzle.
Ami  Nov 2013
Puzzle
Ami Nov 2013
I am a puzzle piece.
Not a piece that connects with the other pieces.
But a piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit with the others.
I wasn't like the other kids at my school.
Not one one corner of me would connect with any other person
“You don’t like Gossip Girl?”
No I watch shows about people with real problems, like the news.
“I can’t believe you don’t like the new Miley Cyrus album”
You should believe because I don’t listen to trash that would decompose my brain.
One day I told my dad my concept.
“Dad I am a puzzle piece that doesn't fit with others.”
He told me
“You’re right. But its not that you don’t fit in. You are a puzzle piece in the wrong box.”
He was right.
I am a puzzle piece.
A piece of a puzzle that was probably dropped in the wrong set of pieces.
I am on a journey to find the rest of my set.
Even if its a set of four pieces
ACT I: Collecting Jigsaw Puzzles

My life has been a series of jigsaw puzzles, the first as pretty a picture as you could wish to see.  It never occurred to anyone that anything could mar the image of a bonny baby in all her glorious honey-hued, gurgling perfection.  

They never found out who crept into the playroom and stole the first piece. It was only one little piece – the size of a sixpence on the baby’s left ankle.  Hardly noticeable. A pity though that such a pretty puzzle should be incomplete.

The next piece to vanish left a leaf-shaped hole in the baby’s back. Did someone accidentally knock over the board? Perhaps the lost pieces are on the floor or down the back of the sofa.

But if that is so, why could they find no trace?  Surely it had to be the work of a thief because it did not end there.

The next puzzle was a toddler.  How strange that the same pieces were missing here too.  Not only that, but a third and fourth piece had gone – the other ankle this time and now a tiny gap at one corner of the child’s mouth.  Why would anyone want to remove random pieces of the puzzle? And how did they do it without getting caught?

No one had any answers.

Successive puzzles depicting a panda-eyed schoolgirl, a shy adolescent, a carefully groomed young woman – all plundered by unseen hands – revealed more and more of the blank surface beneath and ever less of the subject herself.

One day I opened a new box and asked myself “Is this puzzle half here or half gone?”

There comes a point when a puzzle ceases to be a picture with gaps and becomes a blank space strewn with fragments like the excavated remnants of an ancient mosaic.

Would some archaeologist dig me up and fill in the blanks to show posterity what I once looked like?

The jigsaw of a woman in her 40s would have been quick to complete, since so few of the pieces actually connected. Scattered across the board, it was impossible to decide if they, or the space between them, were the real object of the exercise.

I suppose it all depends on how you look at it.

Over the course of 50 years my unplanned jigsaw collection progressed from Bonny-Baby to Can-You-Tell-What-It-Is-Yet? What would the next puzzle be called… The-Invisible-Woman perhaps?

If you think jigsaws are frustrating, try my next hobby…

ACT II: Painting by Numbers

Number 1 was the original skin tone, a light golden beige, my favourite pigment.


Number 2 was the colour of nettle rash, mottled and roughly textured.


This was closely followed by number 3, a stark white, applied almost symmetrically in random patterns, some clearly delineated, others splashed carelessly across the canvas like spilt milk. (No sense in crying over it. There is no cure. It won't **** you.)

There’s nothing quite like summer for bringing out the colours of a painting.  A hat and long sleeves were no match for the persistent sun and by the time the picture was finished, the numbered paints ranged from 1 to 20 with a different abstract brush stroke to go with each one. My canvas contained a tortoiseshell patchwork of shades from brilliant white to violet, golden ochre, burnt sienna, chestnut and scarlet.

And yet this was the height of my blue period.

I had to paint by numbers for 50 summers before I could enjoy my third (and final?) pastime…

ACT III: Joining the Dots

By sheer fluke, at the age of 51, I discovered the secret of the missing jigsaw puzzle pieces. They were there all along – just not visible to the naked eye.  


They had been starved into transparency but, as I began to feed them, atoms of them materialised like specks of golden ink on blotting paper.  Tiny dots like pixels on a grainy satellite image, jostling, overlapping and joining together until they looked something like the missing jigsaw pieces - if a little mottled with mildew.  

And gradually the mildew has faded - along with the sense of loss - to reveal glorious, even colour.

Of all the activities I ever found in the playroom of my life, the most cherished, the most miraculous, the most deeply longed-for and appreciated has been this game of Join the Dots - an unremarkable pastime, you may think (if you have never walked in my shoes), but one which has brought me on a return journey along a jigsaw road from
Almost-Invisible
via Can-You-Tell-What-It-Is-Yet?
past Half-Here-Or-Half-Gone?
by way of A-Pity-That-It’s-Incomplete
and finally – if not quite back to Bonny-Baby – then at least back home to a grateful woman of a certain age who can look in the mirror and smile to see her whole self.


   Vitiligo: A Play(room) in 3 Acts © August 2013 Vitiligo Protocol
I wrote this poem in the summer of 2013, about three and a half years after starting to re-pigment.  It might baffle some readers but I think that anyone who has had widespread vitiligo will recognise the feelings of consternation, powerlessness and loss of identity that accompany the progression of this condition.  But I hope that the relief and delight I have tried to convey at the return of my pigment will give others hope that this is not necessarily a one-way journey :)
Alberto Ruiz Sep 2014
i'm about to finish a puzzle,
completing a portrait
to give me peace.
when the puzzle,
I soon find,
is broken;
there's a spot
with a missing piece.

the whole picture seems ruined
by the hole,
the hole
where something should be.
incompleteness
that once was masked
is now apparent
for all to see.

I open up the box
and find its contents
have been taken.
the piece that has been stolen
left the puzzle with no ending.
I draw out a replacement
as perfect as I can imagine,
but the hollow representation
cannot match
what once was.

I retrace all the steps I took
to get me to this point.
each puzzle piece which I had put
in order to make it work.
the last of all,
the one needed,
the one to complete me,
was given to the one who
needed it more
than I could give.

she has my final puzzle piece
and I have hers as well,
and I would gladly hand it over
time and time again.

she has my missing puzzle piece
and I have hers as well.
neither of our portraits can be complete
without the other's help.
and though this makes it difficult
to carry on as before,
I find the best puzzles require
more than just oneself.

[ARH]
Hanna Kelley Aug 2015
Every child is born
With a puzzle to do
Some smaller than others
But same in point of view

As you live your life
You search for every piece
You find them in the people you meet
Or in places you find peace

Sometimes your pieces
Don't fit like they should
So you take them out
And find a place they could

Some people are so desperate
To find the right part
That they'll force them in places
That ruins the art

When a piece doesn't fit
Then you set it aside
It will be important later
It will have to be applied

But those people that are desperate
May take those away
They'll find a place that it fits
Along with the price to pay

Puzzles are made
With similar design
So they can get away
With taking what was mine

Too many people
Took what were important to me
So my puzzle is left unfinished
And I can't see what it would be

I can't finish my puzzle
And show my work of art
I can't get a new puzzle
And go back to the start

Selfish people have ruined
The only thing I had
I can't find my pieces
I have nothing more to add

So I throw away my puzzle
Since there is nothing more to do
I walk through the door
This is all because of you
Not everyone will understand this poem.

— The End —