Playing With Construction Paper

Take the scissors,
and cut around the edges of my heart.
Don’t worry about how it looks.
Fold whatever part of me
that you need to make the first cut.

I’d be surprised if you find any part
of me that’s folded neat
the kaleidoscope of construction
paper that is me.

I consider myself a collection
of scars and different colors
of the things that I like and dislike.
Even the wrinkled pieces of myself
I’ve forgotten about.

You’ve brought light to those pieces
with each snip of your scissors.
I’ve noticed how quiet and content
you’ve become.

You cut, and I bleed in color
purple, blue, and yellow.

Of all the shapes you’ve cut,
none of them are painful.
Watching you mix up the different
color pieces of my soul,
your love, the stick glue that
gives these pieces more functionality.

I breathe easier, knowing that you’re here.
No longer restricted
by stagnant stillness.

You can even fold them into an
airplane and sail across the room.
I haven’t had this much fun
in a long time.

Don’t forget the scrap pieces.