I told you last night
That all the men I've ever fallen in love with
Were like puzzle boxes -
An intellectual's game,
A challenge,
Something for me to solve
That wasn't my own problems.
Now I realize my simile was incomplete.
All the people I've ever loved are puzzles,
And both experience and society have taught me
That in order to see the full picture
You must put them back together.
I have also learned the hard way
(Or rather, you have taught me)
That some people don't want to be solved.
It is only by turning my observations inward
That I have realized I am also a puzzle,
My pieces scattered across the carpet
Of my childhood bedroom
By my parents, who saw what I was becoming,
And swept me onto the floor
Because they didn't like the finished picture.
How am I supposed to solve someone else
When I cannot even find all the pieces of myself?
Experience and society have taught me
That people make themselves puzzle pieces
To fit into other peoples' lives.
But I am such an odd shape
That I am either too big or too small,
Or the pattern is all wrong,
And I must find a different puzzle
In the hopes that I belong there instead.
And worst of all I fear
That when I have found all of my pieces,
Collected off the carpet and from underneath the bed,
I will not like the finished picture,
And dash myself to bits all over again.
No wonder all of my friends are psychologists -
They see me for the puzzle that I am,
And try to help me solve myself.
How do I tell you
That I would rather solve other people
Because I have given up on solving myself?
How do I tell you
That I have lost so many pieces
That I do not even know if I can be solved?
I have realized
That I only fall in love with fictional men
Because their puzzles are already solved -
And it is only by taking them apart,
Their pieces scattered on the floor with my own,
Neither of us whole,
That I can imagine them loving me.
I have also realized
That the reason I cannot accept unconditional love
Is because you do not care that I am broken,
And maybe it's okay that I am not complete,
Because maybe nobody really is.
No wonder all of my friends are psychologists -
They can see that I am broken,
And they do not care because they are too.
How do I tell you
That I don't want to be solved either?
How do I tell you
That I am afraid of what I might see
When I am whole again?
