Chest full to the brim
Waterfalls spill over
You pick up the piece
There falls another
While bending to help
I see scissors on my lover
Laid in his hands
The blood provides cover
You cut out a piece
There falls another
With tired eyes
I look to you and say
"Thanks for putting me back together".
Its hard to see that someone is pulling you apart when all you can see is them putting you back together
your heart's been broken too many times
but i could be the one to make this right
Every now and then the memory of you creeps in and steals a moment of my time.
Then, without warning a train of emotions slam into my body and I can do nothing but listen to my bones crack and my heart breat rapidly louder than the drums of my ear can take
I am waiting to implode.
The weight of the train threatens to tear my body limb from limb my fleash is screaming in agonizing pain and then...
breath, it is over the train no longer weights me down... breath.
I pick myself up and then continue to wonder down this familiar track, I hope to find someplace, no someone, no something where I may dock whats left of me before the next train departs it station.
You are like an isolated ray of sunlight, beaming down upon the earth, and bouncing back up again; gliding across the universe.
Boundless and open, free of gravity and restriction. You are unconditional, as giving as the light of stars in between the vastness of black; dripping down onto the planets, giving them life.
Soon you shall be immortalized with the furthest reaching stars of space.
You’re gravity will pull all loose connections together, as you pulled mine.
Strangely comforted by nature;
to be silent with what always is.
I fear dawn is about to fall.
Comforted by the fisherman at sea.
Symmetrical lights sway above the shoreline.
Tiptoeing along the tide,
Fun just by being.
I smoked into the night.
Or maybe the night was looking at me;
whispering gaze beckoning me to search the vast bay water.
What could bob to the surface for a foolish wanderer.
I took the face the moon offered on a cratered platter,
and walked home
lusting over new horizons
I am quite excited for calm, comforting summer nights
I've never done much more than ask
If you were sculpted from glass
I have asked if you're cracking
I have asked if you're chipped
Knowing that scratch was from where you tripped
Words are all I have
Words are all that I can use
That's why that question is what I always abuse
Are you okay?
Are you alright?
I wish I could be by your side this night
I don't have much left to give
I was dropped myself
The shattered mug that fell from the shelf
I cannot relate
My tears are not the same
I do not know how to remove your pain
You were intent on fixing me
You can't repair damage so archaic
That's why I'm now a beautiful mosaic
My shattered pieces were picked up
And smooth glass from the sea
That's why my mosaic is a different me
I have been broken and that's fine, but
You can't go on faking
Now that you're so close to breaking
I cannot mend you either
It could not be done with my mug
There's only so much to be done with a hug
I wish I could do more
I offer you only my words
My love is more pricey and ultimately hurts
So that's why I've never done more than ask
If you're okay to be made from glass
The one I care for is hurting and I'm to scared to withdraw because he might crumble. It's difficult to say if I'm holding onto him for him or for me and I don't want to let him break more because of me.
she will never blend in with the crowds
they plant golden thorns on her as a crown
a sign of mending hearts and broken trust
she will never blend in, don't ask her twice.
a snapshot in time
i knew in that moment
you didn’t know my heart
but in that small moment
we were an endless stream
of warmth spinning by our eyes
colors blending into paint
and these hearts
for a moment
those times where if feels like you connect- really connect. but sometimes nothing can stop the spell from breaking.
These weighed down bundles
of my tumbled dried insides
collapse into heavy stacks of cotton
linen sheets, tangled;
memories of cold pressed touches
and warm suds wash over me,
while my seams come undone
in my hands.
Why do you think these threads
can be untangled?
I've looked at your patchwork heart
and oh, how I wish mine could be mended like that,
but I hope you can understand,
I've broken many needles in the process
and I'm not sure I can afford to start again.
Sometimes it's hard to let another person take a crack at loving you. Maybe it should be said it's hard to look at yourself and take a crack at loving yourself, again, too.