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Kelly Mistry Nov 2021
Pieces of me
F  l  o  a  t  i  n  g


Hiding below the surface

Keeping them submerged takes effort
Drains energy
Makes the pieces feel like a secret

What if
I lose them
Buried deep

Out of sight
Out of mind
Never to be seen again

The fear seems foolish sometimes
                                                       ­       but terrifyingly real

To be always incomplete
Never able
To put the pieces back together

What if my self didn’t need to fragment
For others’ comfort
Their easy understanding
And acceptance

Wholeness is hard to imagine
Especially for the pieces that started to s
                                                               ­       u
                                                        ­                b
                                               ­                          m
                                                               ­           e
                                                    ­                       r
                                                               ­             g
                                                  ­                           e
                                                               ­                  before memory began

What a wonderful dream though
To always have access to all of your parts and pieces
To in fact not have pieces

To just be

One person
And whole
George Krokos Mar 2021
A life lived without any meditation
is subjected to much fragmentation.
© 2021 George Krokos
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
preston Oct 2020
the forming of substance 04
Stephan W

"For years I’ve wanted to live
according to everyone else’s morals.
I’ve forced myself to live like everyone else,
to look like everyone else.
I said what was necessary to join together,
even when I felt separate.

And after all of this, catastrophe came.

Now I wander amid the debris,
I am lawless, torn to pieces,
alone and accepting to be so,
resigned to my singularity and to my infirmities.

And I must rebuild a truth–
after having lived all my life in a sort of lie."
~Albert Camus

Worlds apart,
there is a tension
an alienation--

now, strangers-
in a not so strange land

So many parts..
fighting the glow
fighting each other-

These parts, hiding--
From having to be seen- when needed,

From the pain of
having to need the other parts
who also are so unable,

From the visibility--
from having to be asked to join in-
to the process of
an integrated internal functioning;
the metabolizing of things.

From the pain of it all-
and the despondency that will come
from any attempt
         to even try.

~  ~
The spirit--
its dimly-lit distant memories
of a wholly different time

now afraid to ingrain itself
into a body- that is as of yet
wholly unable to even know itself--

Fragmented parts of the heart;
broken spirit,
a lonely longing-

There is a division
a separation
immersed in a dank mist of fear--

Parts-- nearly touching
but, so unable to see..

or even feel each other in the dark

And the greatest loneliness
becomes the one that is lived within oneself--

An unlived-living
within the broken internal-world
of fragmented parts-
now huddled into remote corners
with such large spaces in between;

parts, isolated from
other parts.

~  ~  ~
One day they will no longer be
so afraid of each other--

Even in its dimly-lit state of being,
the spirit yearns for a cohesiveness,
a wholeness--

      a re-integration of all the parts;

Until that time, everything will be partial;
dis- assembled


"The park is now empty and bare
with an abandoned shame about it--
the jungle gym, the slide, the swing
have all rusted together.
They're all so terribly alone now,
where did all the children go?

Didn't they know that the park needed them?

A child’s intelligent heart can fathom
the depth of many dark places,
but can it fathom the delicate moment
of its own detachment..”
~Henry Barthes
"Detachment" (2011)

eleanor prince Mar 2017
currents unseen
compress space
distil life's

laser beam sharp
hidden lest robbed
chained yet

ego crushed

confetti dreams
take wings
orb's disparate

inhabit one frame
fragmented scope
splintered tones

eternal sentience shines
born of toxic fumes
from other beings'
Where the whole that was
has finally
descending in an open, unremarkable blaze.  

And so pieces of me shall collide
with the ground,
implanting fractures
few shall discern.  

And the winds of days
and nights will continue to
persuade the dirt unto me
so my morose roots will not grow,
infesting a world undeserving
of my inadvertent pollution.

— The End —