Big and minuscule,

Wildy shaped, contrasting,

I don’t know what will fit me,

I connect what feels right,

Why does it feel wrong-

Why am I a puzzle?

I’d hate to be incorrect,

I want to be like other puzzle sets,

Who have themselves solved,

But my own pieces,

Draw out my own image,

I feel weird when it’s different from others,

It’s overwhelming,

As you scavenge through mountains, piles,

And can’t tell if it makes sense,

It’s hard to solve yourself,

When there’s too many duplicates,

That spawn and flood,

Oh, I wish labels were fables,

A diving board that launches me to explore,

Instead, they tower and let confusion ring.

I am but a puzzle,

A cluttered, unsolved puzzle,

That even I can’t begin to solve.

(Idk if this sounds too vent-y or something, but I wrote down my feelings last night and tried to fit them in with this prompt.)