Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality
The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper
men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat Obedience into their small bodies. Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together
They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories
children trained as mood detectors
human robots
*know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to
Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart
whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together
with her fathers fists.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality
The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper
men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat Obedience into their small bodies. Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together
They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories
children trained as mood detectors
human robots
*know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to
Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart
whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together
with her fathers fists.