I'm a puzzle with missing pieces,
a flower, a gentle wind
stumbling about,
tripping over blades of grass
like a drunken oaf.
I cast stones into a sea
of broken glass,
wishing gravity would overtake me.
My edges are round and plump.
Nothing fits easily.
No snapping together.
No perfect fit.
I am scattered like seeds
that never take root.
I wish that I could fly.


Comments: 42
Gave you a 10.
Lovely poem!
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
The awkwardness your fine poem describes is painfully delightful. Or delightful in an awkwardly engaging manner. The rude reality that all of one's edges are gritty, underexposed and woefully out of sync with the entire universe.
Including those odd wing buds tucked along the shoulder blades that are itching a lot of late.
Clean, tight, writing with lift in spite of the blue-gray tones.
Future under a moon
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
Blessings and best wishes - S.
In writing this gem, you've somehow managed to in some part, describe us all. I do love your writing.
Marilyn