We are, each of us, a piece of the puzzle

We’re like puzzle pieces, aren’t we?
Oddly shaped,
curvy and jagged
or perhaps angular and sharp.
Each of us unique.

Some parts of us smooth,
as smooth as the lake on a windless day.
Other parts of us rumpled, discordant,
Rough.

Some of us try hard to hide the rough spots
or ignore them ourselves.
(You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?)
I’ll tell you a secret…
Lean your puzzle-piece self just a little bit closer
and I’ll whisper it in your conch-shell ear…

Ignoring the rough parts doesn’t work.
Pretending it isn’t there doesn’t work.
And that bravado about it not bothering you?
Is a complete and total lie.

Completely and totally.

The pressure builds up
in intensity
getting ready to explode.

The stress leaks out
in ways that are uniquely human.
Uniquely us.
Uniquely part of
our own piece of the puzzle.

It’s your illusion that the pressure
doesn’t affect you.
The eating too much?
The not sleeping?
The tense muscles?
These problems may sound familiar to you,
even though you say you are
“Fine!” in a cheery voice.

Not to be on my high horse, however.
As I have illusions of my own.

Perhaps illusions and puzzles
go hand-in-hand.

My illusion is that
I’ll find
another puzzle piece
out there that will fit mine
perfectly.

Perfectly, I said,
even though
I know perfection
does not exist.

My illusion is that
the puzzle pieces fit
better than they actually do.
Even when it’s not perfect.

My illusion is that
I can bend and smooth
or even roughen up
my puzzle piece
to align
in glorious precision
with his puzzle piece.
Or hers.

Not at the same time, you understand.
Or perhaps you don’t understand,
but that’s just as well.
Rather be the misunderstood eccentric
than be understood and pitied.

It’s not desperation
that makes me believe
the puzzle pieces will fit.

It’s hope.