Can I fix this puzzle

of pieces life gave me?

Like a ball on a tee,

I wait to get hit.

 

As they pierce through the air

with every swing they take,

the bruises that they make

are so precious to me.

 

The gashes make me think

new poems and new songs,

as intricate as wars,

the feud of brain and heart.

 

So hit me once more, please,

and let the sting sink in,

for on my very skin

and the tendons within

lives a poet who feels.