But sometimes, I go back and find pieces of myself scattered in my poem like ashes from a fire.

That's a gorgeous way of putting it, and somehow summarizes all my rambling into an elegant, compact sentence. One day, I will be able to express ideas in short form like everyone else. One day.

Isn't it weird when that happens, though? Are you more protective of a verse that feels like it's part of you? Is it ever a rational feeling?

That's a lovely snippet, btw, sets a definite image and mood.