Puzzle.
I puzzle them, for
I am a puzzle.
Verb.
Noun.

Verb: to leave them standing in my dust,
dumbfounded as I carry on.
To mystify, bewilder, bemuse.
To prompt question marks, ellipses, blinking cursors.
To tango about the truth, to assist it in its flight.
To shroud in obscurity, to engender thought.
To fight fear, fire, and “followers.”
To come out on top.

I puzzle them because…
I’m “perfect.”
Yes, perfect as a gift box is.
Beautifully wrapped, sparkling with secrecy
Complete with a ribbon.
But often the home to

Unneeded burdens.

I speak, act, live in a code
that honest minds alone
can decipher.

My words are riddles,
My actions symbols,
My life a puzzle.

I am a puzzle of ten thousand pieces
Each smaller than the last
And ever changing
My portrait can only be seen
Once fully assembled.
For each piece creates

An image all its own.

They cannot sort the pieces,
Can’t even make the frame
Some seem to be missing
Others broken, cracked, faded.

And as they strive to assemble
This idealist’s image
They mix pieces of me
And group them where they don’t belong.

These scholars and thinkers,
They can’t understand how
To paint details into
The “big picture.”
They do not see
How these pieces were born.
Where these pieces connect.
Why these pieces exist.
What these pieces create.
Me.
My image.
My puzzle.
My life.