My Broken Piece Poem by Chris Taylor

A hidden piece that I keep out of sight
Like a present that I have just received and carelessly broke.
I turn my gift, as not to face it towards eyes that can see.
In the bottom of the trash I laid the shard of my shame.

Every night I rest my head on a pillow of apprehension.
Deep in waste I place the fragment hoping to stay concealed
And every morning that piece is deposited at my feet.
I can not run and my mask is transparent and not opaque.

Will they see my brokenness?
Will they forsake me and revoke their membership in their pack
Like wolves who suddenly cull a sick or hurt brother?
How long can I hide this discernible limp?

All the world’s microscopes and magnifiers are focused on me.
My gift and my flesh are torn open.
The novel of my life, with its beautiful leather binding
Is missing a middle and an ending.

My window dressing is elaborate and beautiful.
I dress it with gold, silver and spangles.
But my shard still makes its way to the front of the pane.
Why won’t it leave and why can’t this rabbit disappear?

Is there a place where my broken piece will not be noticed?
Is there an end to this spectacle, this charade?
I cry out “Please don’t notice my jagged bit”
But my secret wish is to be restored.

Lord, is this a work you are doing?
Can you possibly care about the gift that I have forsaken?
Is your glue strong enough to mend such an old trauma?
Are you the one who keeps laying this remnant at my feet?

Reduce my shame and un-pry my stiff fingers.
Let the digits release its hold and lay my shard at your feet
As your peace, your relief, washes over me.
My sin, my stumbling block is now your glory.