Gone To Pieces

by Kyla Alterman

Everything has gone to pieces
Tiny, sharp ones that I shouldn’t touch
because I once got a piece in my hand
and it burned, itched, and ached in my skin all at once
Tear tracks stained my cheeks
for too long despite myself; I hated the pain.

There is now a hole in my door’s window pane
like when a boy kicked through your bedroom door, scattering pieces.
You gathered them before people decided to touch
thinking it was safe to have in their hand.
The mood of the party changed at once
A disbelieving gape surfaced in everyones cheeks.

This hole in my living room door made my cheeks
fall, the now imperfect glass; I was sick of the pain
of finding a way to do it all wrong in the pieces
of every day and over time I learn not to touch.
There is nothing safe in my hand.
I thought I could perfect holding onto you once.

When I was little, I heard a story once
that told me with hope showing in your cheeks,
apologies and promises, you can cure the deepest pain.
Everyone becomes whole again, their souls’s pieces
are always yearning to forgive and touch.
You repair and create new strength like an extra hand.

Stories should do more than stay a wavering hand
but I seem to be the only idealist, can’t you get it too for once?
Frustration, like acid, burns through my stomach to my flushed cheeks
I can’t stop squirming and silently, from the pain,
I cry as my insides are torn to pieces
Even through my winter coat my chest aches to touch.

My fingers can barely remember the touch
of someone I want, and my hand
feels alien in someone else’s, so once
I chased yours back down, pressed it to my cheeks
and for awhile, we only had the pain
of wanting and loving each other to pieces.

My lungs barely expand enduring the pain of everything in pieces
Can’t you let them touch and create the extra hand for once?
Just another to caress my cheeks with when you return.