I'm a fractured mosaic of pieces. As if someone took their fist to a mirror and shattered it. The glass cracking as they stare into their reflection. I'm the broken pieces of glass. The blood dripping from the knuckles. There's something oddly poetic about something that's so broken. I'm the object shoved to the back of the shelf almost like Wheezy from Toy Story. I'm broken. My squeaker doesn't work. I've been silenced but yet I'm screaming. Screaming for someone to pay attention. For someone to wrap me up in bandages treating the dripping blood and say "I got this." To take the time gluing back together the pieces of glass. This healer looks strangely familiar though and then it hits you. The person wrapping your bandages is the same person who shattered the mirror. It's you. It's me. The you who shattered the mirror wants to throw in the towel. Give up. It's the easier choice. The me wrapping the bandages now she is a spitfire. She'll prove to everyone that they were wrong. She had a vengeance in her heart. She laughs at everyone who has left her while you sit and sob. And so the you and me blend into one whole person. A fractured mosaic of pieces.