no. 5 - pieces

I am good at painting a perfect picture.
I am good at saying what you want to hear and meeting your looks no matter how judgmental.
I am type-A as hell.
Obsessively Organized.
Compulsively put together.
I am a puzzle that was done with the edges first and then the center.

But every puzzle has creases where the pieces meet.
To really know me, that's what you have to see.
The cracks bleed in sentences that tumble out in a mess,
it's flushes and stutters, and obliviousness.

To love me you can't just want the image I produce.
You can't just love the picture the puzzle presents.
You can't love the neat precision and the satisfaction of everything having its place.
You have to love the process,
the dumping of pieces and the way they scatter across the table.
You have to enjoy figuring out what goes where,
Whether I fidget from an anxious storm brewing,
or just something to help me feel better.
You have to want to help put me together.
Because I'm a new box every day, and you have to enjoy the challenges that presents.

I am perfectly put together to every stranger I will ever meet
But only the select few have the privilege of seeing the unfinished puzzle
One we get to figure out together,
because we are all puzzles.
We just want somebody to unscramble ourselves with.

By E.V. Seegmiller
-poem-