I’m far too good at handing over pieces of myself
and it’s a wonder that there’s any of me left to give.
Each time, I held my heart with both hands.
Shattered it with a white knuckle grip
and offered out the fragments like bon-bons,
melting and sticky in my palm.
I should have kept them closer,
away from those who saw only wrappers
and threw them aside without thought.
Others tucked them into corners
or placed them on shelves out of sight
out of mind.
No one realised I’d become a jigsaw.
Not until you.
Daily Prompt: Delivery
Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works 
Wow – I love this.
It has echoes of one I showcased on my blog a few days ago – Poem for Everyone, written by John T. Wood, but the positive note at the end of yours is a triumph.
I’ll have to check your blog out.
Reblogged this on Making it write and commented:
Only four days after posting John T Wood’s ‘Poem for Everyone’ I’ve stumbled on another rare poetic treat. Written by Carol J. Forrester, it contains echoes of Wood’s poem – purely by chance, since Carol wasn’t aware of its existence until today – but tells a different story.
And you find out too late the toll giving all those pieces away takes on you… Really could identify with this. Well written.
Thank you, I’m glad you were able to make a connection with this. 🙂
Loved your poem!! So beautiful 🙂