Missing parts

I wish I could dump out the contents of my mind, my heart. Shake out what’s 

hiding in every secret compartment, fan out my thoughts and feelings on the floor, take a long hard look 

and say “I know what’s missing!”

Instead I must pick myself apart, 

piece by piece. 

I am a grandfather clock - tired and forgetful, unsure of what’s missing. I take special care to unscrew all the tiny pieces, pulling out gears and springs, setting aside the living things - snails and cuckoo birds. 

And after I’ve dissected this masterpiece, I have to start the process of inventorying 

all the little metal bones and wire muscles to determine what’s missing. It’s a tedious process, 

painful too. 

Some of the pieces are heavy, weighing me down. Others have sharp hooks - no matter how careful I am

I end up with bruised and bloody hands.

------------------

I like to think I know myself pretty well, but sometime its impossible to add my feelings together and decide what it is that I really want. Living on the edge of change, but not knowing what's coming or how to make it my own is scary and leaves me feeling broken and exposed.