For the rainbows that are birthed from the heavy storms, hurricanes and the floods we endure in our lives are beautiful scars
that serve as a reminder that we were created for a greater purpose,
and that the pain from our torn and bleeding hearts
is what makes us triumphant and worthy.

The scorched, the damaged, the wounded, and the broken are indeed the most purest of souls.

Breakings
by Michael R. Burch

I did it out of pity.
I did it out of love.
I did it not to break the heart of a tender, wounded dove.

But gods without compassion
ordained: "Frail things must break!"
Now what can I do for her shattered psyche’s sake?

I did it not to push.
I did it not to shove.
I did it to assist the flight of indiscriminate Love.

But gods, all mad as hatters,
who legislate in all such matters,
ordained that everything irreplaceable shatters.

Keywords/Tags: Love, compassion, pity, heart, break, tender, wounded, dove, gods, command, mad, hatters, legislate, sorrow, destruction

The way their lips curl back
To reveal sharply angled teeth
Looks less like a smile
And more like a warning
Their words cut worse than anything else
Leaving wounds that could never be filled with tears
Even the smaller wounds sting
When they are remembered later in life
And all of the old thoughts come rushing back
All of your wounds reopened
Just from all of their glass smiles
And sharp teeth
Nothing could be justified
By their improvised lies
Falling perfectly into place
Marking their victims with an unexpected daze

The tears that fall from our eyes
Are starting to turn red
As all of our blood rushes to our head
Burning rage chokes us to death
Until that time when we finally snap
And bring out our own glass smile
Preparing to leave wounds
Just as deep as the ones they left on you
Stab marks left behind on their waxy skin
They were just pretending to have emotions
You know that they were all fake
Their glass smiles making them real
More life like then their marring wounds

I am repaying my
wounded soul a visit

A distant voice tells me
“I am no longer welcome here”

It is seven
in the morning,
where I wage a war
against myself

It ends only when
I take the pill

As a bullet
lodged in my mouth,
and I was the one
to pull the trigger

I am the architect of
my own destruction

I’ve survived
a dozen of wars,
and came back alive

Wounded
but alive

Draw nigh
wounded starling,
dwell among
the woodland fastness;
come under its canopy,
upon the bough's
fractal patterns;
mend your wings,
rest your thoughts;
in time you too will mentor
fledglings, the jackdaws
and sand martins,
teaching them
to safely yonder fly.

There is a difference
between the normalcy of a love caught up in flames
and a love that sets your heart ablaze

I was third degree before I realized this mess
I was unrecognizable -
tender burn victim
silver melted into my chest

There is a difference between being held
and being haunted
running to your lover
and only being called on when you’re wanted

I was worn down to the bone
my ankles broken and bent
before I learned to stop showing
how little to him I meant

There is a difference
between adoration
and  clearing his name  with fearful vindication

I was blind for most of my days
running with the blindfold
pulled securely over my face

There is a difference between accepting love
and loving the acceptance you get

I was dwindling down to my foundation
all the things he never meant

There is a difference between healing
and bandaging the wounds
There is a difference between how he loved me
and how perfectly you do.