I am torn pieces

Handed out as pardons to play with my emotions.

I am shredded memories of love lost to lustful thinking

Patterns of fabricated happiness in the pursuit of my free will to be

Willingly pieced up into parts from the parts of me so intertwined with me

You’d call me a mess so hectic to detangle, only to discover how easily I actually fall apart.

I am brittle bones bent over to praise the soil. Like soil I soak, sink, savor sunlight like skin

Only to be a part of peace with all my pieces apart of each place I’m placed,

Hand, heart, head or heal.

I am shattered shards; solicited scraps pending for a purpose in your presence.

I am the remains of all history.

P

Imnu

M

Babies mend my patience. I desire it around them because I get this idea in my head that if I was frustrated at life I’d want someone to be patient with me. Empathy.. I googled the definition. So yeah.. I’ve discovered a new tolerance of patience

I’m bipolar.. bare with me please.. I’m working on it...