I built myself out of fragments I never asked permission to take.
A laugh here, a way of standing there.
Mannerisms folded neatly into my pockets like stolen trinkets from a world I didn’t quite belong to.
People never noticed.
Hell—I didn’t notice.
I thought I was just learning to exist.
Each piece didn’t quite fit the next.
Some were jagged, chipped, full of light.
Others—dense, dark, confusing.
I pressed them together anyway, desperate to form something that looked like a person.
Something others might recognize.
Something I might recognize.
It’s a mosaic—
Not a puzzle.
Because puzzles are made to fit.
Mosaics are made from what’s broken.
And sometimes, that’s more beautiful.
The stained glass of me—
messy, sharp, vibrant—
lets the light through in ways I never expected.
Not because it was perfect.
But because it wasn’t.
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Author:
COGNOVA (
Offline) - Published: May 22nd, 2025 23:24
- Comment from author about the poem: Being undiagnosed autistic for 20+ years. Building myself (or so I thought), piece by piece. All of that to realize that most of it was a coping mechanism called "Masking". (Helped by AI)
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
A beautiful write that there is beauty in everything, and perfect is not always the best, nicely expressed and written
I loved how this poem reflects how we take pieces of others to be ourselves forming a mosaic nicely done
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