This piece of life

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Who am I, this piece of life? This scrap of broken dreams and joy. This struggling, juggling, swearing, bewaring; Having-loved-so-hard-it-now-scares-me-to-try.

Who am I, this piece of life? This shard of a glimmering shattered crown, This fighting, delighting, tussling, muscling, Not-giving-in-till-I-get-put-in-the-ground.

Who am I, this piece of life? This cloud of ephemeral, swirling mist, This shouting and doubting, moping and hoping, Wait-what-did-you-say-that-I-almost-missed?

These questions and answers I throw all around, Are meaningless noises made of nothing but sound. In moments like these, they are all that I hear, But then I remember, your calm voice so clear:

“Who you are, you piece of life, You beautiful bundle of fears, care and doubt You crazing, amazing, living and giving, Big-hearted-guy-that-we-all-care-about”