Missing Pieces

How can I be myself when I am formless
As if liquid without a glass
There is no me shaped container to rest comfortably in
Only shattered hearts and broken spirits
Needing someone to hold their fragments in place.

Praised for my fluidity
Sought after for my effortless conformity
You fail to recognize the harsher reality.
Their cracks are my jail cell
The shape I hold to fill the void left by others too careless with their precious hearts my only hope for usefulness.

Like all who fill a missing piece,
My presence is unremarkable
Only noticed when I’m gone.

So used to my presence
I have faded into the background
Joining the quiet cacophony some consider comforting; others a nuisance.
And there I remain until I have emptied myself out and can no longer be of use.
Quietly fading away never to be seen again