Fragments


One day,
I’ll be  woman--not girl
and I’ll wear my imperfections
like medal, like crown,
like identity
in thorns.

You’ll say
you used to know me
and I’ll say
you never did,

and maybe then
we’ll sit down
and stitch together
the puzzle pieces of time past,
trace over battle scars
and revise our history,

maybe
find our skin
clear,
find it always
has been,
find our past
not quite as
bloodied
as we recall,

maybe
not at all.

But none of that is the point,
the point is
you left.

You left but you didn’t
because you took some of me
with you
I think,
because I’ve never been
the same
since,
but the point is
you left

and you should’ve left sooner.

I don’t think
I’ve ever been
the same
since.

There is purpose to be found
in the pieces you left me in
but I wish
I had more than just
fragments.

But one day,
I’ll be woman--not girl
and these fragments
will find new gaps to fill
and my puzzle pieces
won’t fit the same
but I’ll be more whole
than I’ve ever been

and I’ll know,

I hope,

because
my skin,
hopefully,
won’t still burn
by then.

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