I feel like a puzzle with mismatched pieces.
I can’t complain about it, though,
because at least I have pieces left, right?
I’m not sure if some pesky pieces were ever included in my package
or if some of them have just gone inexplicably missing.
I find myself frantic trying to find out where these pieces fit.
If they’ll ever fit into my dilapidated self-worth.
I often wonder if some pieces just fell underneath the carpet that I happen to cover my insecurities with,
or if some are still stuck to the tear stains that haven’t dried yet.
I regularly find myself crumbling in and out of some kind of trigger-fed spiral.
I can’t control when it comes or goes
and am even more perplexed when the spiral suddenly stops.
They made me this way.
All of my tragic rejections transformed my once wild heart into a sputtering mess.
I can’t seem to shake it.
I am alone in this.
I can only figure this out by myself.
It can be so miserable at times-
to be this isolated with such a tumultuous conscious.
To always find yourself triggered by such petty things,
like continuously searching for missing pieces that were never there in the first place.
I feel like a puzzle with mismatched pieces.
I can’t complain about it though,
because no one listens to a person struggling with the pieces they have left.
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