Pieces

I wrote this when in a dark place.

I meet so many
who all take a piece
Why does it matter
If I'm not enough when complete?

They all take their pick
Then I have nothing left
I jump and do tricks
And learn that they've left

Where is my place in this world
if I refuse to be a thief?
Must I take and grab and claim
to feel any sort of relief?

They never use chisels,
but always have hammers
Now do you see why
it's hard not to shatter?

They take what they want
and then they move on
Then I am expected
To pick up and stay strong

Then they all say,
"You're easy to break"
I'm supposedly weak
if it's too much to take

When I'm on the ground,
none extend their hands
Seen as some stray hound,
I feel alone on this land

We're all taught
that effort is a must
What harm is in speeding
my return to dust?

Author's Note

Opinions welcome