I have this thing I never talk about.
I got it when I was young.
When the personality train 
dropped off my traits,
my mind was too scattered to keep them straight.
In one bucket, they’re all supposed to go.
But mine got scattered,
Into several small jars.

To be strong enough to face a monster that’s big and tall, 
You need all your anger
All at once,
It makes no room for sadness
Or silliness.
So those have to stay in different jars.

As I grew,
These jars become rooms,         
No idea who I really am.
I am many people,
With many rooms
Trapped inside one body.

You see me one day,
Bubbly and jumping,
She doesn’t know the
Others exist.
Memory in these rooms,
Is fuzzy at best.

The next I am hollow,
My eyes are dark.
She knows what happened
To all of us.
She carries the crimes for them.

My personality is scattered into many parts.
They don’t always want the same things,
And they don’t like to touch,

I feel like I’m being torn apart at the seams.
But somehow, they are all still me.