The summer I went crazy,
I took my pillow.
I clutched it to me throughout the long, hot ride to the lake,
letting its soft weight anchor my remnants
and keep them from floating away.
Having been judged a danger to myself,
I was being removed from prying eyes and sharp objects.
As I pretended to sleep,
I mulled over my inescapable new truth.
No matter how carefully I reassembled myself,
no one would ever forget
that I was a puzzle with ill-fitting pieces.
From now on,
every time they looked at me,
they would see the cracks.