Fixing Broken Pieces

I gather what’s left of me

The way dawn gathers frost

Slow

Careful

Almost afraid to breathe

Each shard remembers something

A voice I trusted

A promise that cracked

A softness I dropped on the way to surviving

I turn them in my hands

Until the edges stop drawing blood

Until the shape of me

Starts to look less like a warning

And more like a beginning

Nothing fits the way it used to

But maybe that’s the point

To build a self that can hold tight

Without shattering

To rise from the floor

Not perfect

Just whole enough to keep going