My parts seem to be at war with each other. The part that loves is dumb with grief. The part of me that will rise up to protect the others- that part feels strong and ready if needed. The part of me that is an analyst- she has her moments too. Clear and focused. Shifting through the mental stacks. Organizing them. Thinking. Trying to make sense of it all. The part of me that is a poet could write half a dozen poems right now. None would sound alike.
