Broken but breathing

Broken but breathing

Here I am again, I’ve been here a few too many times before.
Like the crumbled trash that missed the garbage can, left carelessly on the floor.

The should of’s and could of’s still haunt my brain.
The lightening and thunder warning of the coming rain.

Time doesn’t seem to make it easier; just more days have passed.
And yet the heavy emptiness; the burning agony, that, of course still lasts.

Can’t keep myself together; can’t pick myself up, it doesn’t matter how hard I try.
It’s painful to breath; I’m suffocating, drowning; the only way out seems to die.

That thought alone brings me peace; like maybe true happiness might be within close reach.
What a selfish thought to want to be happy, to make it all go away and sit on a white, sandy beach.

Yes, I guess I’m asking for way too much, I’m just trying to find myself again; but who was that?
The one that saw the good over the bad, believed she could make a difference and thought she was more than just a welcome mat.

Maybe that part of her has passed away? Maybe she hid it to protect herself from all the pain.
But how does one gather all the broken pieces and what really is there to gain?

I really don’t believe time heals all wounds; certain circumstances rip them wide open like they are brand new.
Those people that carry us through are the true heroes. The ones that call to just ask, “how are you?”

The ones that remind you who you are when you feel weak and have forgot.
The silent hug, the boost when you need it, and sometimes a lecture whether you like it or not.

There really isn’t a perfect fix. The cracks are still visible and could easily break again without warning.
The best we can do is enjoy each moon as it rises each night and each sun every morning.

Life in general is a pile of beautifully broken pieces, each trying to find that one piece that helps hold them together and make them feel whole.
Breathing is brutally painful sometimes; but we play the cards we are dealt, because there is no choice to fold.