I've been thinking lately about the pieces that make up who I am.

mostly, about the pieces that people want from me. the pieces that people love to idolize as if they are all part of a whole something. I feel the pieces broken and disorderly, scattered and misplaced. Everyone feels that to one extent or another. A missing piece. And I wonder how long it last to realize that there are no missing pieces only lost within the house. I realized this many many years ago as soon as the drugs and cutting and booze didn't numb out the sound of my own voice. and still here I am, listening to that voice again; lost and lonely. Hmm, with everything at hand, how do you love this life? Serve others? Serve yourself? How do I find the time in the day and night to move this heart along and say, "damn it, I love you." that should be the end of the story right?