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Nat Lipstadt  Sep 2014
Brokeness
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
upon being invited to add to a collection here called Brokenness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He he
** **
Ha ha

it has been awhile
that I recv'd an invitation
to add to anything
or join a club,
just like Groucho (Marx)
worth being invited to...

but when yours arrived,
I chuckled and jived,
for this broken biz
be an area of expertise,
about which I gladly can opine,
since most of which I contact,
is inevitably in that state demised,
marriage, children and other trifles

so to the topic at hand, let say but this,
if not eloquently, then perhaps,
gravely, for that is where the
broken pieces oft call home
or cemetarily. a final resting place...

perhaps you were unaware,
there are 449 poems in attendance,
where the word brokenness
doth appear
in this sanctuary of broken children
and adults too,
easy discovered in the memory of
Hello Poetry

but this will not be, I hope, the
four hundred and fiftieth
as I decided to nomenclature this oeuvre
as Brokeness, with but a single N,
since a good N
can be hard to find,
why use two
when one will do?

if a faithful ecrivant thee be,
you won't be shocked that there are
so many Brokenness in this world,
the dictionary doth recognize its multiplicity
as a word legit, accepting as a plurality*

brokennesses!

which is a whole lot of broke

so let us poets to the process repair,
with a tikkun here, a tikkun there,
a tikkun everywhere

so that the healing never ends
and that someday we will delete
all words of humanity in disrepair,
let the broken be the unbroken,
and let's all say amen
and get started...

Ogdiddynash
Wikipedia
Tikkun olam (Hebrew: תיקון עולם or תקון עולם[1]‎) is a Hebrew phrase that means "repairing the world" (or "healing the world") which suggests humanity's shared responsibility to heal, repair and transform the world. In Judaism, the concept of tikkun olam originated in the early rabbinic period. The concept was given new meanings in the kabbalah of the medieval period and has come to possess further connotations in modern Judaism.[2]

9/11/14
my keyboard is broken
like me
so some leer will be missing
hoefllly yo can ndersand
i'm broken
and like my keyboard
i'm missing things which
i can be cant be wihot
if yo can ndersand this
then maybe yor broken o
becase yo ndersand my brokeness which
is more then i ca say abot alot of eole
my keyboard is broken and i do no feel like using the onscreen one.
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2019
Reached the tipping point
No medicine can fix me
Broken too badly
Is brokenness two ns or one?
Alexander Miller Mar 2019
I grew up in the putrid decay of trauma
Trying to reconstruct the systems drama
Playing a part of victimized slaughter.
Of every word of hope I had, every laugh
Every stab, every push in the back every part of love I lack
Every piece of hate I contract. Man I'm losing track.
Keeping every Jenga piece in the stack.
And I hate the negativity I attract.
Thats why I’m trying something new.
Turning my progression into something true. Every copy, Every piece, Everything I do
Constructed into a new brand of truth
And as time is passing. Voices are still asking. Why is this white kid up here rapping.
And I ‘ll tell you why this is my passion. I hate the thought of our trauma crashing.
Making the better of us while the devil is laughing. And in a corrupt world where body’s are stacking and hurt is open traffic. And the only frequency we receive is static.  And the fact that my mom was an attic only adds comfort to my panic. This system is nerving ending. And the shock is sending a mixed wave of pending impulses. And when the action is constructed, Their only thoughts are the past your stuffed with. Gagged and fed in. The hate of what you did that you’re continuously stuck with. And no matter your current sins. You are still given the opportunity to be forgiven.
Points are misconstrued. Any question, Every answer. Anything you choose.
Lets pick one to re-construe.
Our systems are filled with hate. Abuse to recreate. Siblings are disconnected.
And our worlds are fed with the continuous negativity within our media that our minds our sent with.
Peace within the races is drifted apart. And theres no light in the dark. Only bodies of morals that were taken from the start. Blood fashioned into a negative art. There’s racial divide right where the lines are. And the distance of peace is mile like far. Crimes committed every hour by the powered while someone innocent is arrested every hour. And when the diverted posture of hate is playing a part to keep our mouths sour. Eyes are closed. Centuries of neglect rose. And hatred is like fire ready to emerge from the stove. And our ideas of morals are completely distorted. Warped and contorted. Flooded with the pattern of systematic blood. Ideas of change are purposely adverted. Not enough pineal glands Removed  from the skin when the knife is inserted. The system designed to keep us devoured. Within the difference of civil slavery and power. You want something to pray about. What about the neglect of the deaths of the ones who are left. And yet we are still having *** with the devil, who is the one to meddle with our lively hood.  And yet those things aren’t understood. The first thing to truth being unearthed is.  
The possibility of the word ‘could’. And then change can finally give birth.
barnoahMike Feb 2011
As I look around,   What I see are the Fragments of Man !      Some quite Large,   Some very tiny!     Some as Ripped off,  Others as carefully Taken and placed down.    Some  I recognize as Hearts,  others appear as Spirit forms.    What is common is that some seek sympathy and attention!    Others,  as if an Enticement, want you to join them.   Each think they have made an offering,   That either asks for help OR cries out that You become as them!   Amazingly,  the crowds around them,  seem to debate as to which path they should choose.   ONLY a Handful,   Promptly turn their backs and RUSH away !     BUT,   the Majority sifts thru the SHARDS,  as if shopping at a Flea Market.   Going from Table to Table to Sample the Wares!   No one Cries out that they be "Taken Away" from the pieces  of SHARDS Scattered   all about them !   RATHER,  they ask that YOU Mix in some of Yours and set up a Table ,,Right Next to them ! __    MY Heart pounds a stronger RHYTHM,   My mind racing in questions,   Can't they see The're accepting  all these broken lives as if it should Be the NORM ?     None wants to stand out as His Own,   Fearful that they would be left alone  and WHIMS desires would be left in the  cleaning closet ~having to wait for use~so~they sleep in  a Brokeness  Slumber!    As I leave this "Fixed In My Mind" SCENE.   I reach down and pick up a Small SHARD, appearing to be part of One's Soul,,     Something I "WILL" be Praying about . . . .
copyright 2011  by     barnnoahMike                                 Mike Ham
NV  Dec 2015
playground visits
NV Dec 2015
i sometimes wonder why you still visit my mood swings,
left in abandoned playgrounds between my chest.
why you still visit even though the slides may only carry you down to somebody like me.
somebody difficult to love,
somebody who cannot tell the difference between crying and laughing anymore.
why you haven't left this soul,
who's bones can't seem to find enough strength to push my side of the sea saw,
who can't seem to move past three poles on the monkey bar,
simply because of the weight on top of my shoulders.
this flesh of complete brokeness that couldn't bare ringa ring rosie,
because at some point one gets tired of always falling.
i often wonder, why me.
why me, with all my chipped paint and countless dents.
why you still visit,
when this isn't the grass on other side that's greener.
because God knows,
i'd understand if you look for a park elsewhere.
a park worthy of you.
Patterson Mar 2019
My stomach rolls at the thought of you,
it is a feeling as pleasant as you are-
You with your sharp eyes and upturned nose,
you who has no flaw.

A man named Frankenstein made something much like you;
a creature so perfect
-and yet, when it rose, ghastly and disfigured
there was some beauty in it.

You- you are no such creature
you are a hollowed shell
void of love and understanding.
You have not known rejection, loss
      self-loathing
and to see my brokeness was a shock.
To watch me crumble appalled you,
-you turned away
and rejected me as the creator - the created.

Though my heart is fashioned
of borrowed and broken pieces
I am not your monster.
I raised myself from the dead
-and after you- from the dirt.
You- you my dear doctor;
parading the flaws of others
as a grotesque banner
-it screams:
"I am perfect"

Was I more satisfying to break?
Did my will to fight terrify,
inspire such hatred,
that you could no longer stand the sight
of a girl set ablaze?

My stomach lurches - you stand at my grave
dear Frankenstein, do you regret?
She is not there.
She died.
It is only I who remain
So, this is my first poem on Hello Poetry. It is part of a series of poems called Since You Left, and yes, it is a bit angry, but it is my final poem written from a place of hurt...
Luminosity Cat Jun 2013
You do not see the
            B                      r
                                                     O          K
                               E                        N
                                                                ­    E               s                     S
She has succumbed to.

You do not see how    
                   A    b
                               a   n
                                         d o
                                                  n e d
she has become.

You barely know her yet you can tell that the smile she plasters on is

                     F          A
                                                K   ­         E


Her life has slowly become a sea of

D                     I
            S                        a                S         ­       
                              t                 e                    R           S
Aditi Aug 2014
Dark Circles beneath her eyes
The fire in those eyes
now replaced by sadness
of knowing too much
Of trying too hard
.
.
the more she saw,
the less she knew
the more she tried,
the less things worked

She kept *restlessly brooding

why the world is so raNdom
and what if the littlest thing that she did
made it fall apart?
.
.
tick-tock
(Restless brooding)
A girl of 17
never felt safe in her own skin
She comes in all the shades of self-loathing

(Restless brooding)
Living a life of mediocrity
Good, but never the best
not worth the change in your pocket.

(Restless brooding)
Centre of the group,
her smile was just that contagious
Chased by many, understood by none
Always loved mystery,
maybe that's why she became one

(Restless brooding)
Red is the color of rust that calms her
Jagged cut across her thighs
She comes with a self-destruct button and hence pushes away the very thing she likes
she wants to decrease the casualities

(Restless brooding)
Sleep won't come easily to her
so she writes and reads
that's pretty much her life
by the window she cries
for the characters whose brokeness resembles her life
but if you ask her why
she'll evade vaguely

(Restless brooding)
She increases the volume of her headphones
to mute the voices in her head
voices which try to drag her to the past
a past she'll never get rid of

(Restless brooding)
with every second that passes by
she pushes the world a little more far away
but she always smiles
so that must mean she's okay, right?

Dark circle beaneath her eyes
because *she spends her night
talking to the stars
and conspiring with the moon
against the demons she herself has created
trying to find the key
to the lock she has chained around herself


And one day she will
one day she will realise
*her light can't be contained
and those dim eyes will shine again
One day she will not be afraid of being herself
even if she does not know who she is yet
Next time you ask someone how they're and find them smiling do try to catch  a glimpse of what's going on inside. smile can be deceptive. Thanks. Have a good day. Love you. Thanks for reading

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