I’m serving you pieces of my soul
And your shrugged thank yous
Feel more like slaps in the face,
Salt to go into the wounds
I so willingly inflict on myself.
But it’s ok. Souls are organic.
Like plants, cutting little pieces
Only makes more flowers grow,
So maybe I’m keeping my heart open
For the completely wrong person,
But it makes so little difference.
The only right person is myself.
I can keep shouting all the wishes
Of what you should do for me
But, like the rules of genies,
The universe seems deaf to those,
So I’d rather wish you well instead,
And make sure there’s enough
Goodness to go around, and hopefully
It will somehow come to touch me too.
Take all the pieces you want,
And some of those you don’t want too.
I have enough to keep regrowing,
Reborn into the person I want to be.
The thing I love most about you
Is the journey to your discovery,
The constant challenges you give me
For getting any piece of you.
It’s an interesting game,
Having to sort through all your words
When I know half of them are lies.
But it’s not the truth I’m looking for,
It’s the way your smile curves
And the twinkle in your eyes.
So keep lying to me, love,
I’m learning more important things
Than simple information.
Every story you ever give me
Is a little piece of puzzle –
You can blur the shape and colour
Of each one individually,
But they will still be contributing
To the great tapestry of you.
So keep giving me pieces,
However hard I may need to work
To find the places where they fit.
I’m not giving up until I reveal
The thing I can only guess at now,
Until I have a whole puzzle
To glue together, and hang up
As a beautiful, colorful picture
On the walls of my heart.
We walk around with pieces of you,
A string of something that connects us,
Usually invisible. It only start to shimmer
With a careless gesture. An automatic word.
They are things that trip up our body,
Making us pause a second after we do them,
At the physical feeling of unfamiliarity.
But they are old friends to our minds,
So we suppose we must have imagined it
And we go on, none the wiser.
They are things that make others blink strange
Because in our place flashes another face
For just a split second of recognition.
But they don’t know why, don’t see the strings,
So they assume they’re just tired,
And they go on too, none the wiser.
I do know though. I’m used to standing back
And watching. Following the patterns.
So I can see it when the strings shimmer
And I can follow them straight back to you.
It’s strange. A little impossible.
Just like yourself, I suppose,
If you could possibly have so many pieces
To have so many to give away,
Plant them inside us, and let them grow.
Wait. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?
Maybe you’re not that impossible.
Maybe every piece grows by itself,
And we only need the seed of one each.
Because I’ve watched you too.
You have other strings, running the other way,
Pieces of other people that make you up,
Some of them that you gave to us too,
Connecting us to people we’ve never met,
An ancestry of similar strangers,
A family of unknown friends.
And surely they – they couldn’t have
Such an infinity of pieces
To pass on to you to pass on to us.
I like that thought. The idea that it won’t stop
And I’ll be passing on pieces of you too,
While I’m passing on pieces of myself.
That you’ll know people before you even meet,
And I’ll understand pieces of strangers
That follow a string of somebody else
That you connected me to in the beginning.
I should thank you – thank you for the chance,
For your strings, and for your pieces.
But most of all, thank you for letting me
Turn them into my own strings, and my own pieces.