Healing

There are times when we all feel a little broken and I wrote this when feeling a little vulnerable.

 

Scattered

 
Where do I go to get mended?
To reattach the petal fragments
of my daisy head. He loves me…
He loves me not
To gather up the scattering
of my seed strewn soul. To find
the missing piece
of jigsaw. The incomplete face
I don’t see in my dreams.
The blood and misery of a
new deck, split;
an un-loved plaything discarded
on a mosaic of grass and mud;
shards of broken reflections
embedded in blank eyes
and the disconnect
of a once perfect round pebble
crashing and rolling in human surf.
Where do I go to get mended?