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Dream Sep 2018
I once heard one broken heart say to another broken heart that ''i wish we were not made of glass''.
Only a broken heart understands the plight of another.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


~
Like old friends and new,
We sit adjacent and stare
Am I transparent?
I'm not broken, but can you see and caress my cracks?
Marred body, but hey,
They are testaments.
Least I can sit here and say that
I have learned
a great deal of things...
Good and bad...
~


Counting my scars.
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Anya Sep 2018
When I was seven
My school
Held a glass blowing event
I got to help blow a really pretty
Blue one
I took it with me
Everywhere
Despite my mother’s warnings
And it shattered
So...
What makes you trust me with your heart?
This is not exactly me, more so a collage of my feelings and my fear of hurting others.
Nicole Sep 2018
Girl of glass,
walking alone,
they'll all laugh,
and throw their stones,
the more they do,
she more the breaks,
pieces clatter to the ground,
with sunlight to see,
but the keep throwing,
They think she's beautiful,
but only when she's shattered
soph Sep 2018
Sitting down with them
The glass wall is still there
My mind is worried, yet hopeful
Unsure of what’s to come
Suddenly
They punch through the glass
The shards fly in slow motion
Striking into my heart
Like the words they just uttered
They broke the glass
Because someone broke the trust
My wounded heart sinks into my stomach
I have no idea what’s to come
Now that the glass is broken
I feel vulnerable
Naked on a stage in front of hundreds
I don’t feel well
While they say it’s alright
I’m still uneasy
The words of comfort are bandaids on my wounds
There’s no putting the glass back together
While this wall shouldn’t exist in a perfect world
It made me feel safe
But now
I don’t know what to think
Or how to feel
Now that the glass is broken
well

uh

tonight was weird

my entire body is still shaking

enjoy this continuation to the series
Madison Sep 2018
I never had the chance to be soft.
I was always ****** knuckles and broken glass,
I wanted them to fear hurting me.
Another short one
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