i’ve lost pieces of myself
somewhere along the way.
i’m scattered and torn up:
a writer’s scrap
feverishly destroyed and
sent with the wind
to find place among
the rest of the garbage.
but…
no matter where i touch down,
i have no place.
i’m wrong here—
despised by my surroundings
as i fall in among them.
where, then?
where do i belong?
where is my home?
why am i so broken and
where did i come from?
why am i here?
i don’t know.
i wander,
pieces of me latching
to the debris all around.
i might have cared before—
i might have fought it—
but now i leave them to
seal their own destruction.
i’ve lost pieces of myself
somewhere along the way.
no matter where i touch down,
i have no place.
why am i here?
i don’t know.
—C.R.E.