Weak in the knees, and not quite free,
A little bit of you,
Stacked in pieces and piled away from me.
All my parts strewn in an empty bowl…
Dazzled by the pain, a not quite right bit of
Neatness - swallowed by the rain.
Empty on my knees,
Crackled and torn - puzzled and worn,
All the layers of my being haphazardly shorn…
Set to the side, bits and parts, pieces of me,
Cracked and torn, tattered and worn,
Shelved among the trivial things…
Krystal D. Dailey