We hold softly
Gently
In our hands
Those things we’ve broken
As if somehow
If we are gentle enough
We can put back together
Those things we made fall apart
But even if
Somehow
We made those pieces fit
It wouldn’t be the same
Running our fingertips
Across the smooth
We would feel the rough
People are like that
And the relationships
That bind us
And while we can never be
Put back together exactly the same
We can grow to find comfort
In those rough edges
For in those rough edges
Are the stories
Of how we came to be

Too many times
I ask the question
What have I done
It feels like
All too often
There was already
Blood on my hands
Before the battle
Had even begun

I look around
At the pain
I have caused
And know
It wasn’t
What I had
Planned
And all I can ask
Is what have I done

Sometimes it feels like
I have everything
Under control
All these moving pieces
Grasped firmly
In my hands

Other times it feels like
Things are violently
Out of control
All these moving pieces
Spinning wildly
Out of my grasp

Maybe control
Was always an illusion
And I never had any
To begin with
Maybe knowing
Everything is out of control
It’s the closest thing
To real control
That I’ve ever had

The part that scares me
Terrifies me even
Is that these two things
Often feel the same
These days
I can’t seem to be able
To tell the difference

I dreamt
Of crimson tides
Waves
Crashing over me
One after another

Bathed in red
Crushed
Under their weight

And I swear
I couldn’t tell
If it felt more like
Love
Or something closer
To hate