Pieceful Peace

My life is a mural, viewed through stained glass. Each scene seen a different shade from the last. I am not an island, rather, a jigsaw mountain. Comprised of many pieces, navigating each day bounden. There are pieces I bring to work. Others still, kept close to me. One's for friends, family. Still more, you may never see. Advantage to gain. A chameleon. Perfect gimmick. Existing. Subsisting. Practiced, social mimic. Tricking out the carriage of character with borrowed pieces. A collector. Changing. Molding. Ruining. Trying to be a version better. As I grow in years, jagged lines blur and fade. Acceptance of self. Concessions, refuse to be made. Pieces finally fitting together. A cracked mosaic, emerging. Soon broken lines will fuse. Self and action quickly converging. Gone the days faced with a loaded quiver. Arrows of assimilation not willing to deliver. I see a canvas, framed by a mirror. Recognizing my true self. Nothing has reflected clearer. No thing has ever been dearer. Coming together in my mind. No longer falling apart. Shows only truth found in my heart. Allowing myself, my life to become a personal work of art. -Angel Fatale-