Possible trigger warning. …… an experiential poem of sorts…
The Fragmented Self.
so it seems.
and in pieces.
Not joined up.
Why is that?
Well in earlier life, stuff happened, big and small stuff, stuff, that wasnt attended too, stuff that was too big to integrate or make sense off.
stuff that was small, but habitual.
Pieces of self were not seen, heard or noticed enough
for them to be grounded, accepted, held, in a safe space.
so instead they split,
and formed wee islands on which they live their seperate lives.