There are pieces of me everywhere,
scattered about like sitting chairs.
Written down on paper squares,
shaped by the curves of letters.
People often stop and stare,
and read them has if they do care.
That I might have a word to share,
as if my pain makes them feel better.
Never to notice in the words,
exactly what I want for heard.
But with the tongue their fast to say,
what it is that they do think.
Breaking me back once into,
like dirt thats spread around by shoes.
counted not in ways by twos,
I am many pieces...
saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-many-pieces/
