Kayfucius

A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

Often,
I feel like that lone puzzle piece
that doesn’t really fit
into any other puzzles

And yet, hope of finding its true place
is the enigma of its existence –

It’s worn enough around the edges
that it can pretend to fit for a while
in mildly disjointed puzzles;
Until it pops loose,
and is exposed as abnormality…

Cast aside
until itΒ almost fits into a different puzzle.
And so such cycles continue until
it’s cut to fit
and lacquered,
pressed into place –

Uncouth edges
suddenly glossy and smooth
which only really emphasize
its uncertain position…

How unique it was
When set carefully apart.

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Kayfucius

A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

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