My Life is like a game of Jenga.
Continually building from the ground up.
Each block woven together, constructing a tower of strength?
Though in this game, parts (of me)
are pushed away, lifted off, pulled aside or so simply taken out.
Sooner than later the gaps start to grow weary,
testing those unsuspected points of strength.
Inevitably causing this self to
wobble and sway, striking anxiety and fear of toppling over.
Then you realize, sometimes you must fall.
And with that last piece you come barreling down,
startling those closest to you.
the base-blocks of Jenga always survive,
the foundation of myself will always exist.
Gather those crumbled pieces and build again.