Dear Reader,

I have never written in poems. Never stepped into the water of poetry. Some of the poems in the collection are personal. My thoughts, dreams, fears, wishes. Others are meant to hold one another together. Interlocking the group selected to shine. You will be able to relate to the words you read. The goal is to feel connected to me. Feel how I feel going through the days, one at a time. Consider the path that shaped you. Consider all the thoughts swirling around in my head, in your head as well. I would like to believe you will walk away from “Living In Pieces” with a new take on the world. A new view on what goes on around you. You do not need to feel a specific way as you read through my thoughts. Happy, sad, hurt, all are okay. My writing is yours to read how you wish. Read what you want to. Consider what you need to. Enjoy all that is in between. 

Sincerely,

Isabella .S Shea

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       

 

 

 

Prologue…

 

One word at a time you will find your words. 

One word at a time and you will find your voice.

Your voice will take you to many places.

Many different people you will find on your journey.

All you have to do is hold what you value and love close.

Follow your heart and love the little things.
Little things hold great power of the change you can make in this world. 

You will make a change.

Be one with the change you want to make.

Don’t let the change take away from you.

You are you.

Be you.

Be strong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

✫

 

When you are little you are untouchable,

You are in a bubble of happiness.

I loved my bubble. 

But when I look back now, 

I can say with full confidence that my bubble popped too early.

I don’t know if there was anything I could have done to delay it either.

Could I have held on longer?

I will never know.

How about your bubble? 

Is it okay? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ✫✫

 

Living a double life.

Everyone has a double life,

Some people have double lives that are similar.

Others don’t share anything.

Parallel worlds.

Never overlapping.

What you decide to overlap, it’s only up to you.

Most like to have their doubles lives never cross,

One on this side

One on that side.

What if you couldn’t pick?

I couldn’t pick, 

Others influenced the decision.

Did you get to pick?

Or did someone else get to?  

 

 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫

Breath.

One breath can save you.

No one has to tell you to breathe at night.

Your body knows,

How to breathe without you.

How to live without you.

In a way your body doesn't need you.

You need your body.

More than your body needs you.

You are, without your body.

Nothing.

One free soul,

In the world. 

Would you like that?

Freedom from your body?

Mirrors would no longer stop,

And stare back.

Telling you to change.

You would be free.

Do you want the mirror? 

Does the mirror want you?

Do you want to change and leave the mirror behind? 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫

 

I was very small.

Four years old.

I went to a preschool that allowed kids to pick the day plan.

If we went outside,

- Painted,

 Read stories, -

This was all chosen by us.

Some ways one could say this was my first glimpse into a world of being ‘independent.’ 

I don’t think so.

I believe my ‘independence’ came way before preschool.

When did your,

Independence come into the frame?  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫

 

No more dreams

No more memories of the night.

No more wishes.

No more waking up trying to remember.

No more seeing walking through your head at night.

No more dreams.

No more dreams would be sad.

Do you dream?

All that is left is a soft buzzing of darkness with;

No dreams.

All that is left is quiet.

All that is left is sleep.

No dreams, no imagination. 

 

       

 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫

Waterfalls are beautiful.

Each year an estimated 684,000 individuals die,

From falls globally.

Are they still beautiful?

Devine?

Elegant?

Exquisite?

What about, gorgeous?

Are they still considered artistic?

Yes.

One does not look at a waterfall and see:

Ugly.

Gross.

Hurtful. 

Why not? 

They have caused pain and loss.

If a person did the same,

Shame and hate would follow. 

Is that okay?

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Beauty is a gift. 

Not a ‘given.’ 

Or a item handed to one,

 Like some believe. 

Similar to beauty, trust is a gift.

Trust can be earned,

Just as fast lost.

When you trust someone you are putting yourself,

In a vulnerable position. 

Vulnerability is scary. 

Everything in the open;

Exposed to the world

Anyone can see, 

Anyone can look. 

There is no hiding when you are exposed.

How can you take back the vulnerability? 

                                             -  You can’t.  -

That person, or persons will still know you,

Your past,

Your struggles. 

You can’t undo that.

But you can stop more trust from forming.

More experiences from being shared. 

That’s up to you.

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Train tracks can take a person anywhere. 

Walk on a train track,

You have the power to go into the unknown.

When I was little I used to walk on train tracks. 

I would walk on the rails.

Balancing on the two inch metal rails. 

Pennys were often found on my walks.

Left by others,

Waiting for the train to flatten them. 

They wanted an elongated coin. 

Some pennies I found,

Were so crushed I couldn’t get them off the tracks. 

I would try for a bit to remove them.

Resulting in me continuing my walk,

Leaving the penny for the next. 

Maybe that left penny you found.

Or maybe,

You were the one to try and elongate the penny,

 In the first place. 

Casing our paths to cross. 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Are you scared of being forgotten? 

People not saying your name.

Photos of you no longer on living room walls.

Old clothes once worn thrown away.

Does that scare you?

Does being forgotten scare you?

Or do you long to be forgotten?

Report cards pushed under beds.

Your school desk dismantled.

Rugs adoring your room rolled.

Is that what you want? 

Do you want to be forgotten? 

Everyone has that thought. 

Do you? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Everyone has secrets. 

What is your secret?

What is it that you keep of yourself?

Maybe you shared,

One other person might know.

Or maybe you have kept it for,

Yourself. 

Only allow your mind to see. 

And wonder in the image.

Your thoughts and feelings. 

Did you feel better when you shared?

Was the weight lifted? 

Was the feeling held? 

Sometimes it is.

Others can’t be as lucky as you. 

Think about your secret.

You have all the power to share. 

Don’t let anyone take that away from you. 

Believe in you. 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

 

Eyes are beautiful.

One look into any eye can tell you a story.

I have a story in my eye.

You do too.

Is your story happy?

Sad? 

Mine is both, happy and sad mixed together.

Becoming one.

Eyes hold so much sadness.

Fear.

One could say they are meaningless.

No one does.

If I told you your eyes,

Are meaningless what would you say?

Would you laugh?

Walk away? 

Look down at your shoes?

Or would you agree? 

Would you agree? 

Would you look me in the eye and say; 

Yes.

My eyes are meaningless.

You wouldn’t,

You wouldn’t because no one would, you follow the clique.

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

No more pencil smudge lines on hands.

No more broken classroom chairs.

No more hall bells. 

No more classes.

No more running through woods trying to catch the bus.

No more late night work.

No more school.

No more sports bags barely closing.

No more practices.

No more fast starts.

No more races.

No more sports.

No more late night hugs.
No more.

If everything was to vanish,

Where would it go?

Where would all of the ‘no mores’ go? 

What made them go?

What caused them to run? 

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Photos hold snippets of memories.

All the photos you have taken hold a memory,

Pressed between the films.

A moment stuck in time.

Perfect.

As you left it before.

Nothing has changed in the photo since the day you took it.

Smiles still the same.

Laughs still sing through time.

At one point you loved that photo.

That moment you loved so much you wanted to keep it.

Hold it. 

Save it.

You look at photos and long to take the photo again.

To be back in the memory,

You want to be in the moment. 

Time left the same. 

Not one piece of the puzzle is missing.

Because you have all the pieces in your hand.

In the photo you hold.

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

 

Dreams.

Dreams are merely electrical brain impulses.

Pulling on random thoughts and imagery from your memories.

Memories of the day,

Memories of your wishes,

Hopes.

Dreaming happens in the REM sleep stage.

Muscles become paralyzed.

For twenty minutes the dream has control.

I don’t dream.

I don’t get to watch my memories and thoughts, being twisted around, 

Forming new memories and thoughts.

My body doesn’t become captivated by dreams.

Instead I lay in bed.

With nothing but the night around me.

Holding me. 

I used to dream

I had dreams every night,

Waking up excited to remember them.

One night was my last dream

The last I would remember.

I didn’t even get to savor the dream.

 

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

 

Peanut butter.

How did someone look at a nut and think:

I want to smash it?

I want to crush so many I can spread it.

On toast,

In cookies,

With jam.

Did they think about that little nut?

Did they think about the family?

They didn’t.

You would have.

You would have sat down and pondered. 

Maybe we need to start pondering more. 

About all the little things that get,

Pushed away.

 

  

 

 

 

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Sitting in class when I was younger.

Not understanding anything.

Getting work handed back.

Red pen.

Everyone else had,

Blue pen.

I had red

“Life is hard”

I was told this a lot - still am,

I was told this after ‘hand back' or tests.

“You will do great things” 

Was usually the next commonly used phrase I was told.

The problem no one seemed to have a phrase for was;

The great thing.

What was it?

People have phrases for everything.

None for anything I could benefit from. 

I know “life is hard.” 

I don’t need a reminder. 

“I will do great things.” 

When is the will going to change to have done great things? 

 

 

 

 

 ☾

 

You're told when you are younger that,

Those little things are little things.

That the only ‘real’ problems are big.

People miss that little things can grow,

Or little things can stick together; 

Forming one massive thing.

Little things can become harder to fix than big things.

‘Big things’ all start out as a ‘little thing.’

What about you? 

What do you think? 

                               

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾

 

As one can see, life is complex.

That's okay.

 It’s okay that my life is a jumble of scraps pushed together.

‘Okay’ is the wrong word.

Not wrong,

Inexact.

My life is unique to me.

No one has the same, or even similar life as me.

People can share some of my experiences.

They will never know it all.

All the fine details.

Sometimes I try to explain my life to people.

Friends,

Distant relatives,

Teachers,

Colleagues,

They don’t understand how to follow.

How to comprehend.

Do you communicate the experiences of your life? 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾

When you lose something important,

You feel the pain in your bones. 

Down your spin,

A cold shiver. 

People.

You can lose people.

Friends,

Or family.

You don’t know you lost something ‘till it's gone.

Too late to go back. 

You don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone. 

What love you had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾

 

Can you fly?

Can you float in the sky?

Sailing through the wind, 

The clouds. 

Every so often you flap your wings,

To glide.

What color are your wings?

Are they soft as sand?

Strong as glass? 

Are you a bird?

Or do you simply hope to fly? 

Wish to be the one flying.

Not the one watching.

 

 

                                                        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾

 

People can change the way you see that world.

Some people make you see the world as a happy, safe, equal place. 

Others made the world feel scary, uninviting, and grim. 

When you meet that one person who makes the world a better place you will know.

-  You will just know. -

That person will be that smile on your face,

- The song in your head -

The lucky penny on the sidewalk,

A dollar in your back pocket of your favorite jeans,

Faded from years of love.

Finding this person is what can take time.      

Have you found that person?

You have.                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                     

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

I was given a four-leaf clover by a teacher.

She had found them all over the place and gave one to me.

I had never seen a four-leaf clover before.

I had seen them online and knew what they were,

Where they came from,

How they were unique,

Actually holding one in my hand was different.

Twenty minutes after being given the clover,

I was walking home,

- A bird pooped on me - 

Bird poop is lucky.

With as many birds as there are in the sky,

It's supposedly more rare to be pooped on by one than it is to win the lottery.

Since that moment I have kept the clover with me.

Pressed between my phone and my phone case.

I sometimes wonder if this is what happens to lucky people: clovers being given to them.

Birds picking them out of all the other pedestrians walking on the sidewalk.

Are you lucky?

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

A perfect day.

One day where everything goes smoothly.

Every moment can be remembered,

A smile to show to go along.

You can look back at the day,

Happy and giddy.

I haven’t had a perfect day. 

Have you had a perfect day?

Do you think about that day?

Are you proud of the day?

All the good experiences shared?

Who was in your day?

Who was it that got to make the day with you?

 

                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾                                               

 

I’m a butterfly.

Moving and forever changing.

Everyone when they die has a new life they begin.

In my new life I believe I would become a butterfly.

Not just any butterfly, a green one.

Green and yellow - black spotting adoring the left wing.

Why a butterfly? 

They are free.

Free from drama and hate,

Flying to places of love.

Green is the color of few lucky butterflies,

One out of sixty two, I would be that one.

I would be that small piece of luck.

Butterflies' wings are different.

Similar to zebras or fingerprints.

- Unique -

Most butterflies' wings are symmetrical, mine wouldn’t.

My wings would be different.

Left and right not matching or fitting together quite correctly.

Instead they would stand alone. 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

Sometimes in life,

The only way to understand someone is to be in their 

Thoughts. 

To feel what they are feeling, 

See what they are seeing, 

Experience what they have experienced. 

Walk in the shoes of someone else,

 Step into their life. 

Step in their life and be them,

For one second.

Only one second.

Be them.

Don’t lose yourself in them.

Keep them close and yourself closer. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

The Peace Rose. 

How can a flower make peace? 

When you give a flower you can ask for forgiveness,

Not peace. 

Peace is a concept of social friendship and harmony.

Peace is in the place of,

Hostility and violence.   

Yet, one flower is called:

The Peace Rose. 

A large flower of light yellow cream,

Slightly flushed at the petal edges with crimson pink.  

Who had the power to give to the rose?

 

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

Sorrow. 

The Purple Hyacinth is a common symbol of sorrow.

Who decided to make a flower live up to that?

To be able to hold all the sorrow. 

All the forgiveness and sorrys.

Purple Hyacinths are pretty.

Soft purple petals.

Teams of six in each cluster.

Are they pretty enough to hold all the sorrow? 

No.

Someone looked at that flower one day:

They thought the flower could.

It can’t.

I can’t.

You can’t. 

We can’t because nothing can.

Nothing can hold all the sorrow.

Sorrow is too big to be held.   

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

Gladiolus. 

Gladiolus, the flower of strength.

Strong stem,

Big flowers.

Light and thin petals.

Over two hundred and fifty shades.

Reds,

Pinks,

Blues. 

All the flowers are different. 

Different and matching with one another. 

All hold strength. 

All form one bond.  

People are all different.

All hold strength.

Together we form one bond. 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

Color. 

Everyday we are surrounded by different colors.

You are a color. 

Your hair,

Your skin,

Your eyes.

You wear color on your clothes.

You put color on your face.

You breathe color in the air.

Even black and white are colors.

When you get the option of:

Color or black and white.

Either way you are picking color. 

Every single time you are picking color.

We as humans are drawn to colors. 

We follow color.

We long for color. 

You hold color in your hand and love that color. 

What is your color?

What is that color that you could hold forever? 

What is the shade,

You see yourself in?

As you dance in front of your bedroom mirror.

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

You have never seen yourself.

You have never seen yourself in person.

All you see is a reflection of you.

Or a photo.

You will never see how others see you.

You can’t,

You are you.

They are them. 

Different people.

Different views of you. 

One person, but seen as many,

By multiple people.

You have a view of everyone else.

They don’t have that.

They can’t see themselves.

You can’t see yourself. 

Instead, you see them for them.

They see you for you.

Who sees you?

Who do you see? 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

Snowflakes are never identical.

There can never be a twin snowflake.

Start with two identical crystals. 

By the time they reach the surface.

They are no longer identical. 

Conditions change the snowflake.

Conditions change people.

The way you start as a baby,

The way you are now,

Is different. 

No longer identical.   

What conditions made you?

Who shaped you,

Into you?

 

 

 

 

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

Time.

Seconds and minutes,

Hours and days.

Never to be seen again.  

Time is the most precious thing in the world. 

The greatest gift you can give to someone,

Your time. 

Give the people you love your time.

Pick who you want to spend your time with. 

Spend the time you have doing what you love.

With who you love. 

You can never get your time back.

Spend your time wisely,

You don’t know how much you have left. 

Time is yours to live with. 

Who is your time spent with? 

 

 

 

Endnotes:

“Living in Pieces” started as one short, clipped, paragraph. Over the course of several months, many drafts and multiple roadblocks, a finished product broke through the surface. At first I was hesitant to write something that was so ‘exposing.’ These are my thoughts and views on the world. Why would I share them with you? Certainly not type them and turn them into a collection. But that is what I did. I have made my thoughts public. Poems came into the mix shortly after my decision to write about my thoughts. I was having a difficult time turning what I had in my head into words on a page. Poetry was the only thing that made since. I could write what I wanted and still have it be free flowing and not seem forced or rushed. I wanted to connect the reader to myself. That's when the idea formed to intermix questions throughout the individual poems. Connect me to you. I wanted to give the impression we were having a conversation. Just you and I. 

Stars and moons. One of my favorite aspects. They started out as a little detail. A form of expression. I was messing around. Trying to figure out what I liked and didn’t like. In the beginning I used the stars to number the poems so I could edit them. They made it easier to remember which poem I needed to look back at. After ten or twelve poems I grew fond of the little stars adoring my pages. They stuck. Slowly more and more stars were on my pages. When I got to sixteen stars I switched to moons as a transition and a middle point marker. 

Over the long course in making my poem collection I deleted an abundance of poems. Some I deleted to make the collection flow together, others were to personnel. Even though I was willing to write down my thoughts, some thoughts had to be left behind. Your thoughts are your thoughts. My thoughts are mine. You can share your thoughts and so can I. It is what you pick to hold close that is up to you. 

I hope you enjoyed reading through my poems, stepping into my mind. Maybe next time it will be you who opens the locked door, holding all the thoughts safely within.