if life were like the puzzle place...

we are puzzle pieces.
when the box is first opened, we are all together.
every piece is there, none are scratched or lost.
beautiful pieces of manufactured bliss.
then life decides to take us out of our sweet cardboard home,
throw us on a table,
and move us around.
some people you trust with those pieces, and they damage them.
bending them at the edges, so they will never quite fit again.
or they lose them,
somewhere on the hardwood floor.
not quite as soft as cardboard.
and sometimes we just can't reassemble ourselves,
and it's not fair,
and why can't someone else do it for us?
why was this box ever opened.
all of us
have lost some pieces
and can't find them again
so there is a hole
when we come together.
where is my cardboard box?