It took my last bit of strength to pick up
every last bit of shredded me off the floor.
Left with bloody fragments of a torn heart,
a distorted mind and a shaken psyche.
My existence, Picasso’s The Weeping Woman feel to it.
Feeling awkwardly out of place and lost in my space.
I had to recalibrate; I needed to rebuild.
Now I’m new and different, possibly improved.
A little wiser for the wear; a lot harder around the edges.
More protective of me, not so naive anymore.
Self-preservation took me to new heights.
I’m back and ready.
Don’t ever hurt me again.