the days you have yet to claim

and the praise you swallow or let rain,

depending on the level of blush and locked knee,

or if you ran, or had room to.

do you pick it apart?

keep the pieces?

The shape of a heart isn't the
edges, its what collects inside.
memories of what was enlightening
brightening the darkest of times.

A singular touch, weakening the
sorrow, forefeeling the pieces that
were needing a loving touch.

Past collections that mend every
pain that was in my past.
You mould my heart...

I cant imitate the sensitivity that
your recreate with a loving touch,
But you words fill up the corners of
a heart that absorbs your every word of love.

Don't look at me like a perfect portrait
When my smile was sewn on
And my flaws edited out
As the lights covered my insecurities
And the flashes buried
The shadows of my demons
Within the vignettes of my life
Which were hidden in the depths of time
For no one else to ever see...

Don't touch me like I'm a masterpiece
When you weren't there to sketch my rough edges.
You weren't there to see my colors
Bleed through my paper thin masks
Onto the tile floor forever as cold as my heart...

Don't hold me like I'll shatter
When you weren't there to see me in pieces
Because darling you can't break something
That's already broke...

Broken, hard scattered shards,
seeming impossible to undo.
You were just a jigsaw puzzle
and I wanted to complete you.

Interlocking jagged fragments;
we both knew from the start
that you were missing pieces,
ones that belonged to your heart.

If we were to ever be together,
I knew what I had to do --
I began to take myself apart
to give those pieces to you.

Slowly I break with each piece you take,
but my love only increases;
for now I am a part of you,
I am your missing pieces.