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Philomena Apr 17
She is just a small glass girl
Will catch you eye but she wont hold your gaze
Instead she simply reflects whatever others want to see

She treads carefully
To fall is to break
She feels empty
Missing the life that others possess
She is alone
Mysterious yet uninteresting  
She is broken
Unable to heal like human flesh
Someone look and see the small glass girl
Where am I, you ask?

Lost in the clutter of my mind

Thoughts all jumbled up
Like a spool of tangled thread
And just as thin
So close to breaking

Fingers get caught
And slowly turn purple
Once released, permeanent damage remains

My conscience plays the fingers
My mind the thread

Pull to hard,
the thread snaps
Don’t pull enough,
and it’s forever knotted
Strung Nov 2018
Am I glass to myself?
So easily shattered.
See through the image I talk about;
Do I pretend to be different
Than a mirror of doubt?
Reflect back only critics
Buckets of loss
With every look in the eye,
A victory tossed.
Brittany Hall Nov 2018
I'm just a lamp.
You're just a bulb.
I give you power.
You give me light.
I stand tall and strong, waiting to be used.
You roll around, fragile, easily breakable.
Together we ignite something beautiful, that makes the world a little brighter.
It's nothing magic, just how we were wired.
One day I will fall, my intricate shade will crack.
My solid base absorbs the shock, so you remain intact.
Turned loose from me, you're ******* back into the old lamp from the closet.
Amazing, it still lights up, covered in dust and cobwebs.
A little warmer, yet a little more dim.
The only problem now, is that lingering scent, of burning dust and cobwebs.
You used me, but I understand.
ryn Sep 2018
Catch me in a beat
In the way I was promised
So that I won’t break
Forgotten Pages Mar 2018
I am empty
I said
In not so many words
The veiled confessions dripping off his ears like candle wax
As the wick burns down
Filling the room with a palpable smokiness
That only I can sense

I am choking
I am crawling
I can feel my light fading

For I am a teacup
Sitting on a shelf
Dusty but decorated
My handle pointed towards the wall
And uninspired

How I long to be filled with more than emptiness
To have him pour all of his being into my heart and mind
To have him look into my eyes and see more than himself
But each confession only serves to deepen the loneliness
As a search for a soul to listen through the words
Sally A Bayan Feb 2018
I do believe that, people's
breaking moments aren't spectacles,
to be watched like carousels in a carnival,
not free for all(s) publc seesaws
anyone rides....sees what comes and goes

my folks' words play in my mind, like a spell
"don't let your eyes stay wet too long, they swell,
one day, those tears will make you unconquerable
your fences and walls ultimately become impregnable."

...but.......there's a truth that's unavoidable
there're days when we're not that invincible
sometimes, we melt, we flow
hurt by people's deeds, we don't even know
why.....the days, at times, become too cold,
confusing...other times, painfully bold
we break, we droop............we fall
we realize...we can't always be that tall
we become...........frangible
just as breakable
just as fragile
as porcelain
we're human.


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 8, 2017
Samuel Fox Jun 2015
He told me that he is burning alive,
not literally, but inside. Said that he
feels palpitations every time he thinks
he might go back;

like his heart is a jarful of moths,

beating against glass.
I told him we are all breakable,
but that he is going to make it through.

He asks me if monks can really
spontaneously combust. I reply, no,
but they light themselves on fire.
It’s a way of protest. He says oh.

He then says, I want to protest

against Adderall, Cymbalta, and
Marijuana: he still can’t focus, still
can’t be happy, and being high is
a minor fix. I don’t know what to say.

We sit silent for a while. I ask him
what depression is like. He laughs
and says, it’s like a really drawn out
stubbed toe, only it’s in your head

and no matter how much you curse
you think the pain will only get worse.
It always does too. I just want to die.

The next day he scorched himself.
Someone called 911 and reported a man
walking out of a **** shop

with a jar full of something dead

and then poured
gasoline over his head and lit a lighter.
I cried. I wondered if there were wings

still fluttering when he burst into ash.
He could have at least saved what little
flight he had left, what little life, for me.
~Seems unbreakable yet so fragile~
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