To the pieces of your heart that I could not pick up

To the hearts that weren't picked

and to the pickers without the ability to do so. 

I've always been brave.
Ready to take any challenge,
but with you,
I wish I had the right feelings and strength
to steady me in these waves of detachment
that I surf every day
so that I can swim to you
without the fear of drowning
in the sea of uncertain incapabilities.

I've always been good with pieces.
I could transfer them from my hand to paper,
but with you,
I wish I had gloves to protect my hands
against the tiny little shards that I will face
when I bend and pick up the pieces
that you scattered over,
because they aren't my specialty.
I refuse to hold them
and keep inside of me.

I've always been wishing,
hoping,
and praying,
that I did leave your heart crushed
into ashes on that floor
that night—when you laid yourself vulnerable in front of my walls that you were so proud of

because maybe then you'd pick up your pieces
and hide them away from my selfishness,
from my incapable hands, 
and eyes.
from my unbending back,
and heart.

because maybe then someone with the ability to do so
will pick up a broom and sweep every little particle.
and you'd be in awe
that someone is working hard to gather all of you. 
and wait for you until you're ready
and that wouldn't be me—oh how I wish she could be me, for who wouldn't grasp love when its reachable already?

But,
I've always believed as well
that you aren't broken into pieces
with pointy shards that you claim you have
because you've been whole
all your life.
you know what you want
and who you are
you don't need any repair
or mending up
because you've been feeling everything you refuse to.
So no,
I didn't pick up your big heart
because it would take two hands.
unfortunately,
mine is full of my own pieces
that I, too, couldn't pick up—oh how I wish I could, for who wouldn't clasp an offered heart?

So,
to the hearts that weren't picked up
please do not think of yourself
as little
as unworthy
and not great enough to be chosen
because there are also hearts, like mine,
who would rather sever connections
than try to lie
that they have big spaces for feelings,
that they are great,
because they would choose themselves,
before others, 
because they too, like me, think
that they are not valuable enough
to love.