Pieces of the Puzzle

When young an innocent
the feeling is quite known.
The wholeness being one
is absent though Ive grown.

Carved and jig sawed internally
not present from outside.
When looking in the mirror
I want to run and hide.

Its like vitaligo
of the spirit and the soul.
Theres times that I lose patches,
painting on them to look whole.

Pieces of the puzzle,
dont always fit
where they came from.

Thats when Im dragged
along the ground,
forced in place until Im numb.

But over time these pieces,
somehow begin to fit.
I always have that one piece,
that falls out when I sit.

That one piece is the main piece,
most important in my life.
I hope it stays and does remain
to help me end my strife.