Jig-saw

Mistakes, made by many,
Are seldom acknowledged in
A suitable fashion that allows
Something craved so much- forgiveness.
Along the way ‘I love you’ became
A warm sweatshirt. Something
to wrap around you while sitting
By the fire, but oh! You better keep
The curtains pulled to the storm outside.
‘You’re mine’ was a bomb shelter.
Safe and sturdy all around you, but
you can still hear those bombs drop.
‘I’m sorry’ not dissimilar to the sound
the gun makes at the same
Time you feel the bullet enter. No fire
Is friendly fire. And when we come together
I see fireworks that make no sound.
Yet nothing is louder than my tears on paper
In the presence of new information. While I
see nothing but a blur.
Even though I am rebroken, remade
Like a jigsaw, I still fit perfectly in your arms.
And I guess I’m just happy you hand me the
Glue every time a piece of me falls to the floor.