Fragments

Fragments: Part I

I am fragments turned whole,
Seeds to peony blossoms,
Stanzas to poetry,
Littered stars to constellations,
And somehow these pieces can never be taken in their entirety,
The shell of my seeds are too weak for some, the petals too dull
The Stanzas too jagged, the poetry too dreamy,
The littered stars too dim, the constellations too ornate
I want to be seen in my entirety
And still be poetry worth the read, peonies worth the picking, constellations worth the awe.
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Fragments: Part II

You hate everything I am and everything I will be and everything I was and everything I can ever be. I just want to exist in a space where my belly can unclench, where ny identity isn't constantly interrogated, just to be free in my skin, in my bones. I'm tired of burying parts of me that haven't even died yet. It is suffocating being buried alive.