The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

Scattered Pieces

A jigsaw mind, edges frayed,
scattered pieces—none that stay.
Shapes collide, but don’t belong,
a silent storm, a muted song.

Hands reach out but touch the air,
words dissolve before they’re there.
I am here but not complete.
A puzzle is missing parts of me.

Still, in fragments, light can seep
through broken gaps, and the soul still speaks.
Not every piece must fit just right; some rest and ignite.