Endless Pieces
I am tired of constantly fixing myself,
of trying to piece together this mismatched puzzle.
I’m an endless number of broken glass shards that somehow form a whole,
but I don’t know how to put it together.
Years and years of searching for the rules, the manual, the instructions—
whatever you want to call it—
but it’s just missing.
Sometimes I feel I will never be right:
not the right woman,
not the right daughter,
not the right friend,
not right.
There are moments when it seems I’ve overcome everything,
that I’ve passed all the tests—
and then I crash.
I have failed again.
I can’t seem to get the guy,
can’t make someone proud.
I’ve embarrassed a friend,
said the wrong thing,
acted the wrong way.
And no matter how hard I try,
the finish line is always just too damn far away.
Every time it looks closer—reachable, tangible—
it moves back to a point I can’t see anymore.
Where are the rest of you buying your life manuals?
Because I can’t seem to find mine.
Where are the answers to this test?
When did all of you take the classes I clearly missed?
It’s not a fair game.
I’m tired of nothing ever being enough,
of always finding more pieces, more work to be done.
It’s never enough to grow, to work on myself—
there’s always someone, something, demanding more.
Smile more. Learn more. Be better. Try harder.
Words that repeat in my head over and over again.
It’s torturous.
Therapy, books, gym, diet—still not enough.
I look at myself in the mirror
and I see everything I like.
Everything I want.
I see me.
I love me.
I will burn the words.
Silence the voices.
Let them rot in the deepest darkness
of the part of my soul I no longer inhabit.
Watch me rise.
Watch me thrive.
I am here—
and this is me.
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