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Pieces
February 1, 2016
Pieces, broken cov'ring the floor;
A trail of me lead to the door.
I couldn't keep together, me;
But a wave hit— barbarity.
Nobody knew, because my face
Was happy, smiling, full of grace.
But inside of me was a sea
Of anger, of sadness, not glee.
Was drowning in that water that
Consumed me; chased me like a cat
After a mouse. No one could see
The storm, the war inside of me.
So pieces, on the floor they lie;
Could leave them there to petrify.
Or I could pick them up, maybe,
And show the world I can be free.
© Jessica F., Bradford, MA
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This was originally supposed to be a Kyrielle poem, but I didn't realize Kyrielles usually have the last word of each stanza repeated every time.... That's fine, but I'm not sure what it is now (if anyone has a fitting type, let me know cuz I'm curious lol!). ;) Anyway, I think this poem could apply to a number of situations. Have you ever hit "rock bottom", however you describe that phrase? I know I have. And I'm sure most people have as well. When I write *most* of my poems, I don't usually think about my own life. Usually I think about a lot of different situations, both of people I do and don't know. This was no exception. Though I do think it could very well be applied to my life as well haha! :p