Fistful of Self

We
Are turned inside out
Not by a thread
But by the fabric itself
The subversion of identity
Submersion of self
Into a system of pieces
That may box us in if reassembled
Or attach to our insecurities
Before scattering to the wind
Carrying us away
In a fragmenting
Vomiting up the questions
Of whatever defines
Or destroys
Us

We shine at our most fractured
The edge-sharp pieces
Catch the eye
To be dulled or reshaped
At every turn on display

Did you see me unraveling?
I saw you look but I could not tell
If recognition there
Was yours
Or reflecting
Mine

I’m holding all of my threads
Fistful of self

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About Leil_ish

I am restless and intensely curious about almost everything that most people don't care about.
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