The Imperfect Puzzle

Mapping out my memories,
I realize that there are too many.
My canvas is too crowded,
and the picture is not clear.
I've felt the passing pleasure
of many places and people whose
purposes have been buried and betrayed.
I've known the lonely emptiness of having
too much on my mind.

And now as I sit here,
stone-cold and silent,
I half-heartedly arrange the puzzle pieces,
and put them in new places,
and I stare until my eyes blur,
trying feverishly to figure out
the faces,
and the places,
and the future of the picture of my life.

Because if I knew where one piece went,
maybe the rest would follow,
and maybe the rest of me
would know what I am doing wrong,
and maybe, eventually, perhaps
the pieces of my puzzle of my picture
will fall,
slowly and finally, into
where they need to be, into where
I need to be. Into
who I am.

-kb