I don't want to be the ballast
that holds you to the floor
as your balloon is swelling
and I see that you could soar

I don't want to be the deadweight
that drags you to the deep
You are a flying fish and I
wish that you could leap

I don't want to cut this rope
though it's begun to fray
I pray that I can have the strength
to start to set this straight

~

If you were to cut the rope
then i would understand
and as I sank into the depths,
I would try to rise, a man

~

Locked in, the heart of my weight:
a feather says fly,
leap!
Even though the the hour's late,
Skim like a stone, kissing the deep.

~

So this is my mission, to rise for me
and whichever way it goes,
i pray you will fly free

i told you before
that i will go through the storm
because i know you're inside
you're creating this storm tonight

the rain is your tears
the wind is your wail
the dark sky's your emotion
and your anger is the hail

the wind is saying to stay back
but i forced my legs to march on
splinters of wood are penetrating my skin
but i braced myself to hold on

i can see you now
you're the eye of the storm
you smile as i arrive
but there's a man inside

the storm calmed
as you rest your head on his chest
that smile wasn't intended for me after all
and then something from my eye fall

i step back
and turn around
my face is wet again
and it's not the storm's fault

,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)



<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares