Pieces This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

May 14, 2013
Her words cut through me like a hot knife through soft butter, burning, slicing me into pieces; until I’m spread so thin I almost disappear, blending into the background. I try to melt into the scenery, but she is able to see right through the camouflage and find me to attack once more. She tears me up like an angry child and a bad drawing, the pieces flutter to the ground, landing everywhere and left to be swept up by someone who wants to deal with the problem. I’m torn into such small pieces that I’m almost invisible; I will never have all my pieces back together.

But wait, why is someone picking up the pieces? Couldn’t I just be swept under the rug? It would be easier and less of a hassle to just sweep me under a rug and forget about me. But he’s picking up my pieces, the big ones, the medium sized ones and even the one I thought were lost. He holds my pieces in his hands as though they were going to fly away, gently he takes me away.

Little by little he is helping me, first by piecing me back together, then by helping me piece myself together. Little by little, I am becoming whole again. I’m learning to trust others and myself again. Learning to come out of my shell; when she just shoved me down in the past. I live more, showing who I want to be to the world, and not who she wants me to be. He holds me up so I don’t fall on my face when I stumble, and if I do fall he helps me back up and tells me it’s ok to try again.

He has given me my voice back when she had ripped it out to control me. He has given me love where she had shown me pain and rejection. He has given me the world instead of taking it away, and has shown me light when I only knew darkness. He is showing me what life can hold and I’m coming to know how beautiful it can be, how it can hold beautiful things as well as the ugly. He has shown me everything that was hidden from me, mostly acceptance and affection.

But he has also taken something; something I thought would hurt, that I would miss. But I don’t miss it. In fact I think it was his to take all along, waiting for him always. I don’t think I’ll ever get it back but, if I really think about it, I don’t think I want it back. It belongs to him. And it always will.

Forever the keeper of my heart.

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