Broken

Broken I’m cobbling together pieces of myself Broken apart when I fell Upon an unforgiving life, Cold, like marble. Dusting off this one, examining that one, Holding each up to the light. Is this one worth saving? Not always an easy decision, For they’re all old friends And they make me feel comfortable. But some old friends are beguiling. My bed of roses was full of thorns. Ignoring their heartless pricks, Their barbs slowly drew my lifeblood, Drop by drop. So I will choose the best pieces I can find, Being careful not to slice my fingers on the shards. There’s the piece who remembers what it feels like To be five years old, and the piece who loves to sing, The piece who is a mother, a friend, And the piece who enjoys cooking and writing. I will fashion some new pieces, too. Maybe people won’t recognize some pieces, maybe even me. Being broken isn’t so bad. Not when you get to choose how you put yourself Back together again. Maybe being broken is a gift.