Updated: Feb 20, 2022
My house is in shambles.
And so am I.
So is my spirit. So is my motivation.
So is my heart.
So is my exhausted brain.
So are each of the plans I ever had.
My shoulders are sagging, dragged down by the weight of my chest.
I’m an unmoving rock, but even a rock can shatter into a million pieces.
I can’t think of picking up each of these strewn pieces.
I can’t think of picking up even one.
Every part of my life is disassembled.
The life I wanted to build for myself, for my kids, even for my husband.
There are screws littering the ground. And jagged pieces that do not look like they can even come together to make something functional.
I don’t think I can get fixed.
Everything about me is so flawed, so very broken, that I just leave it all scattered on the floor.
And then I trip over the shards. I stub my toe. I step onto a jagged piece and wince. And bleed.
But I don’t see the point of picking any of it up.
I'll just leave them on the floor.
The pieces of my life.