A Conversation

My spirit tripped down the stairs this morning
                                                                                                                         I stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

                                                                                                                                  “what happened you were just so strong” I asked.
It began to cry, how could I ever stare at my own self with such shame

                                                                                                           Feeling guilty of giving my best parts away, I choked up the words,
                                                                                                                     “It's just too exhausting being full for everyone but myself”.
With wide eyes I watched myself in the mirror waiting for a response,

“You label yourself as if you were a new piece of furniture in need of putting together, but at least a couch is comfortable with itself, you only love your cushions when someone else is sitting on them”.
                                                                                                                                 “What good is a couch that no one wants to sit on?”
                                                                                                                              Somehow I am always so confident with my reasoning.
My spirit never understood how I could be so detached.
“Always asking questions only to get answers you’ll rewrite, I can’t help you unless you allow me to exist”

I shatter every time I realize,
these conversations are between who I’ve been and who I really am.
How is it that the only person willing to weather any storm I was facing and
turn it into a poem,
Was the same person I can never recall telling I loved?