A Fraction of the Picture


I never know who I am,
I’m never solidly in one place,
Always splitting and breaking
Into different pieces,
Reforming and shattering
Again and again.
I shout eureka everyday;
I run through the streets
Beliefs clenched in the palms of my hands
Like precious artifacts
That may never be seen again.
Finally, a notion of Self.
But before I know it
My hands are shaking,
They’re trembling
And I can’t stop running
And I can’t stop thinking
And my grip is releasing
And the artifact is sinking
And then crash!
I’m on my knees again
Picking up the shards
Puzzling how to put them back together
So that I can be a Whole Person.
Not just fractions of a person
Unceremoniously glued together
As if by a kindergartner,
Hopelessly falling apart at the slightest
Doubt or criticism.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to craft all my parts
Into a beautiful mosaic,
With colors that compliment each other
And an image that I understand
But for now I’ll just
Gather all my fragments
In front of me
And stare mystified into the madness,
Attempting to find the pattern
That synthesizes me into reality,
All the while trying not to fracture
From the great confusion this world brings.

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