Pieces of Her

There's a me

In Phoenix, she never left

Her hometown, she was too

Comfortable with all the

People she grew up

With (the ones I still

Love and miss)

And she always has someone

To go to,

She has a

Shoulder to cry on,

And she's never once

Felt alone, didn't have

To figure out how

To leave

Everything she's

Ever known.

Maybe she settled down,

Realized she

Didn't have to keep

Running,

Didn't have to

Catch up with herself

Because she was always

Right

There,

Walking between the saguaro

And creosote,

Living in a world

Supported

By the others

Who never left

Home,

Didn't have to go

(Or grow).

***

There's a me in LA

(Although, to be honest

I'm not sure she'd still

Be alive today).

She is hardened by a city

That didn't welcome her,

She is struggling, surrounded by

Skeletal palm trees,

probably just

Scraping together.

Maybe she found something

To make her happy:

A way

To calm the demons

Without the

Constant supply of

Poison, but I don't

Know

That I would

Recognize her

(Or like her

Anymore).

Could she still

Have a soul?

I wasn't there long,

I couldn't stay,

but I could already feel

Mine

Slipping away…

***

There's a me among the

Mountains in Colorado–actually, maybe

Three:

And one lives

In a home she found

With her husband,

Probably has a couple of

Kids by now;

And one lives in a house

That is his (that will never really be

Hers) and she is haunted

By everyone who ever

Came before…

And one lives with

Yet another sad mistake,

Trying to make someone else

Happy, while she

Molds herself into a palatable

Flavor of all her

Possibilities…

***

And then there's me.

I feel like all of them would be ‘she,’

While I am something different,

Someone embracing their ‘unique.’

And yes, it is confusing,

All these other ‘mes,’

And I don't know if any of them

Would be discovering

This more-true version of being,

But I sort of doubt it.

I'm no longer surrounded

By expectations, I don't

Have to pretend I'm

Someone they want me

To be.

In a way, I guess they

All had to die

So I could rise like

That fiery bird

(Name the same

As the first city I left

Behind).

And I had to perform

A control-alt-delete

On who I thought

I was supposed to be,

Moved to a place I chose

(By the pond)

And surrounded myself with those

Who love me

For me,

Not for how I could

Contort my personality

To approve or appease.

And I'll miss the kids

I'll never meet…

(Maybe my largest

And most hollow regret)

But what kind of a parent

Could I have been, really?

When I didn't even know

Who I was meant to be yet?

***

And sometimes it's lonely:

This life that I've chosen.

Sometimes I miss

All the people I've been,

But there are pieces of her

In this Frankenperson I've

Patched together,

(Stitched with the thread

Of everyone I've cared for).

I don't know if she's happy:

Any other version(s) of me,

But I know that I'm getting there

Eventually,

Through love,

And time,

And recovery.