Jigsaw

My soul is overflowing.

My brain is overwhelmed.

My heart is bleeding.

Filling my veins and pouring itself through my fingertips.

Mixing with the ink on the page.

My words staring back at me.

Reminding me that I have thoughts and feelings.

Reminding me that my life has meaning and purpose.

The message may not always be clear.

Sometimes on the freeway between my brain and my hand the words get lost in translation.

Half heartedly mapping their way to happiness.

Misguided by societies roadsigns they take a wrong turn.

They come back full of contradictions and doubts.

Sometimes the ink gets diluted by tears.

The words run.

Although the edges are blurred the picture is still there.

Now requiring a deeper introspection.

Each letter.

Each word.

Each line.

Each scribbled out mistake.

Each poem.

Becoming another piece.

Searching to find its match.

Completing the puzzle that is me.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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