I’ve exploded
Like a watermelon dropped on the ground
And my broken pieces cluster under red leather chairs, wooden tables,
They clink under shiny black shoes.

It could take a day to put me back together,
Or a week, or a month, or a year
I painstakingly pick up the ragged shards of myself
Cutting my fingers on my own sharp edges,
But recklessly,
Not caring.

Finally, I insert each piece into the mold that used to be my soul
The gesture seems hollow
It’s not me anymore, and the slivers don’t fit together like they should
I guess extra glue in the seams might help
So I fill my empty gaps with meaningless rubber
Hoping I won’t notice the difference.

Once the glue starts to dry, I realize-
I’m missing a piece
The gaping hole stares up at me,
Searching for help
I thought I was good at puzzles, but now,
I can’t understand how this piece could be lost
Then I realize it’s not just accidentally swept
Under the off-white rug in the living room
This time, it’s gone.

I can’t remember, and I don’t want to remember:
The mystery of the missing gingerbread house,
The pool incident,
The “big stick”,
All just glimpses into a void of memories
Like a scrapbook left lying open on the floor
And it hurts to remember.

I start to shake
The glue, still fresh,
Slowly drips from my cracks
But I know it takes longer to put myself back together,
Than to fall apart.

I ask questions
Screaming at the cheery blue sky
No one seems to be listening
I’m exploding, broken, shattered
Because the one who always listened
Is gone.