A piece of me

 cut a piece me off
Is that what is expected?
How much of myself am I to give

the true me
the many perceptions
impressions wayward and unkind

The knowledge of me
can you take my name too
the essence of me

after pruning
what will I be left with
will I recognise the piece that remains

Deaf ears and uncaring minds
will I grow back in time
to get a taste of who I was

before death comes with his own knife
hastening the inevitable autopilot fashion
soul clinging like dead cicadas to brittle old bones