Fragments of Me

I feel it, every crack and tear, The slow collapse beneath my skin, Each shattered piece, each broken part, A silent storm that howls within. Yet they gather like vultures near, Pointing fingers, casting stares, As if I’m blind to my own ruin, As if I’m deaf to whispered prayers. They speak as though they know the weight, Of crumbling walls and hollow bones, But offer no hands to lift me up, Just stones to throw, just words like thrones. Their eyes don’t see the truth I bear, The quiet battle fought each day, Instead, they judge the wounds I hide, And mock the scars that won’t decay. I know I’m falling, I don’t need them, To circle round and feast on pain, Each broken piece, a burden carried, Yet no one shelters from the rain. They think their words can fix the cracks, But all they do is push me down, Their voices ring like hollow bells, Each one a nail in which I drown. So let them watch as I collapse, Let them judge what they can’t feel, For while I break, I still survive, And every scar, to me, is real. I know I’m falling, falling fast, But I’ll rebuild, alone, in shame— For I’d rather rise with broken hands, Than bow beneath their whispered blame.