Pieces

Late night, stagnant after a fight, sitting in the dark and welcoming corner of my closet.
Looked to the ceiling, trying to shake that feeling I used to have the ability to turn off like a faucet.

I used to think this was strength. The length of my endurance. The ability to prosper through adversity.
Pick up the phone to attempt to hear something new. Words that would sooth and give antedote to the viral anguish I’ve mothered, raised and now want so desperately to flee.

A voice says ‘ Your Broken’. Never heard that before.
Never thought that a word could dredge up realities I’ve worked so hard and succesfully to ignore.

‘What’s that?’, I thought, as the concept I fought with all of my subconscious energy.
Who became through strife who they set out to be. As others fumbled throught life with failed strategies? Me.

But I am tackled by my past as my the memories race fast to my once so serene present.
It hurts to think of what I left behind. What once was peace of mind is now a ghost of what I used to represent.

With each acceptance of the unacceptable, I pushed away from the table filled with my milk and honey.
I gave strength to my oppressions and relief to my transgressions then coped by poking holes in my memory.

Goals and aspiration past and love and happiness lasted, But faded with time and laughter. Laughter that masked the tears that longed to accompany my face in sorrow.
Followed by lifting my head in ‘strength’ and stating ‘ I’ll deal with this tomorrow.’

But tomorrow never came and with only myself to blame, my excuses lose all credibility.
There is only one that can rebuild this structure. The one who holds all the pieces, me.