Her spirit was in those puzzles,
Detailed, messy, twisty, and complex,
and in the process of making them,
A splatter of color on the dining room table
from which emerged something of beauty.
They melded into the other components that made up her routine,
a laptop covered in vegetables with worn out keys,
and a cocoa mug that remained with a history of brief cocoas past.

When she had to pick up her things and move them away
When she was told the things were not welcome or accepted as they were,
It was a realization that she didn’t fit within that artificial scene
Her comforts were piles of socks on the floor
and a blanket to sit on beneath an evening light
She realized that her only choice was suppression of herself
in favor of maintaining a controlled image of perfection
She had tried that before, and it was suffocating
She realized that her newfound safety had been an illusion
and more of a temporary sacrifice that was not wanted.
It was a differing of values that she might try to understand,
but like a puzzle piece dropped in the wrong box,
she simply did not fit.

Her spirit was in those puzzles,
and she had to protect it
Her spirit was in those puzzles,
and as she packed them away,
she removed herself too.