all of your beautiful broken pieces
like mine
but with their own unique shapes,

i cannot put these pieces back together for you
i do not know how they fit
i cannot see the mosaic they make
your story of completeness
is not mine

i cannot tell your story
your words are not my own
your truths are not my own
i cannot place the punctuation
i cannot complete the chapter

and you haven’t asked me
to put you together
piece by piece
word by word

yet my own brokenness
begs me to
make you whole again
so that i might see my own complete reflection
in your myriad colors
so that i might hear my own truth confirmed
in the words of your story


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