#bandaid
Her skin was the color of band aids
Her eyes the texture of gauze
Her hips were jagged
Small scabs above all
They'll tell her she's average
And that nothing is wrong at all
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 4:57 PM UTC
My band-aids are wet
gone the protection and safety
the box lays empty on the floor
that didn’t last long.
band-aids don’t patch gunshots
I tried to be strong for you
but my shield already falters
I hope that I don’t drive you away
press your foot on the pedal
and lock the door
your eyes trace my silhouette
and for once,
it’s just like my fantasies
I’ll buy a cast.
Let my wounds scab
and heal
I have a feeling
once I’m in your arms
I’ll have no need for
band-aids
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 10:43 AM UTC
a thousand years ago, wrote a poem called
“why I always carry tissues” -
a labor of love to
mine own toddlers misadventures,
requiring love covered in tissues so soft,
yet an ironclad coating
of natural substantive parenting
useful for tearing eyes, running noses,
and the cuts of living outdoors joyously
children grow older and oft that means,
they seek not your counsel,
and if offered, politely ignored,
for so it goes tween fathers and sons
then one summer days you receive an
observation, a datapoint that irradiates,
a quiet confirmation that not everything
you’ve said and done has gone astray
a young’un of “almost ten,” informs her father,
around the luncheon table of three generations,
that her foot is hurting; the son, now the father,
diagnosis renders, a blister, which will require
a protective custody that will protect the child’s
feet from the ravages of furious Shell Beach fun,
or the rough of a Manhattan sidewalk
I watch with a joy so quiet and so overwhelming,
as the son-father reaches into a cargo pocket,
producing not one but two bandaids, for life
requires backups for there are other babes about,
who at moments notice, produce scrapes and cuts
of ever greater consequence for each year they age
his wife renders me overjoyed, when she dryly
observe how certain children are lucky that
their father always carries bandaids, a new factoid,
for me, an unknown that glistens like a wet shell
now my eyes tearing, for a message in a bandaid,
or a tissue no matter which, is a certified proof,
somehow a message got through the clutter,
marked “well received,” that loving well requires
an oh so very hard attention to details, and that deep pockets
are repositories of good notions, handed down generations
June 24, 2021
Shell Beach
Jul 15, 2021
Jul 15, 2021 at 5:07 AM UTC
You always ask me
what I'm thinking of
and I must admit
if you knew my
true thoughts
you will never see
me the same again.
Constantly I am
thinking about
how I could
possibly feel
beautiful at night
when I eat anything
during the day.
I can't tell you this
because you might
worry for me.
You would say
I am beautiful always.
While this helps
it feels as though
you are putting
a band-aid on
a cavernous wound.
One that was small
many years ago,
but recently was infected,
left untreated and
ignored because of
how ugly it is to me.
I am embarrassed
that I love you more
then I love myself.
So I won't reveal
what I'm truly thinking
to you ever.
Instead I smile,
blush even,
and say I cannot
stop thinking of you.
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
you words leave me with wounds
deeper than bargained for
and i seem to be out
of band aids
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 2:17 AM UTC
i bought the brightest colors of bandages from the drug store,
i put them all over the the scrapes you left on my skin.
i wrote on top of them with a sharpie.
all the words you said, so everyone knows why i’m hurt.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 12:40 AM UTC
Poetry is not the blood you bleed,
Poetry is the bandaid you need.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
Paper cut,
Criticizing the amount of aches
And several heartbreaks
Alone, will it survive?
A blank sheet could've been so plain,
To cause a hissing pain
Through the skin, it climbed
Paper cut,
Raw demons under our beds
Messed up thoughts in our heads
Coincidences, it's going to make--you wonder why you even try
Velvet tinted fingertips
Each touch may vary to lost a grip
How does the love runs dry?
Paper cut,
A fountain claw has it senses
Has the right to demonstrate its defenses,
Creating our "must-haves" above the gleaming stars
Burried promises and surfaced platforms drew a raid,
Choked out confessions became my aid,
Will you be able to clean the scars?
Paper cut,
Scrolling a list of autumn lies
Scanning with my blood-shot eyes
All these nightmares are in under attack
Just because I told you what and how I felt,
Doesn't mean my wounds needed help,
Please, do not expect my swollen lips to say "I Love You" back
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
I trusted you
I believed that you had my back
thinking about it now
there was none of that
I was yours and one day
you left me
you lied
and you hurt me more
than I ever knew you could
I don't know why
and I don't care
because nothing could fix
the bond we shared
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
What can only be described as the sound of velcro being ripped away from felt, was similar to the way I ached when you walked away.
Quick almost painless but a slow burn as the feeling settled.
Then, nothingness.
But as I try to peel the bandaid away like my protective shield being dropped. The wound you left isn't as visible.
If I press hard enough, my faded memories come back.
pain that I know all too well.
Then I realize no matter how hard I try to heal, the sensation will always be prominent. The scar may be gone but your dark memory lingers.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Nicotine
All these useless words
I'm using for you
are the bandaids
that soothe my wounds
when you aren't there
to make me feel as if
my breath will never cease to be
and my heart will never wish
to cease its beat beat beat.
Lately, I've taken the form of
anticipation,
but you know I'm
not very patient,
and my anticipation is
in need of liberation.
Darling, when we meet again,
I will lose it all,
forget my sanity;
I will smother
smother smother
you in love.
- Crimsyy
A/N: Thankyou for reading! Please leave a comment of what you think about this poem...your comments mean a lot to me ^.^ Also, for this poem, I left some punctuation out on purpose.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
Impatience is the impairment of patience
Where it is imperative, should be noted
That the implication of impatience
Is the lack of it thereof,
That is, patience
And not having the time to
Improve upon waiting
It's not necessarily a bad thing
Sometimes it's best to rip the bandaid quickly
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
Avoiding positivity,
You feel like dirt,
So you decide to sweep yourself under the
rug.
Hiding and cowering described as
Self enlightenment
Trying to get relief from the immense pain
that suffocates daily,
You act out with a bandaid
The short relief, blessed relief.
However great it might feel,
Only distorts the reality of effectiveness.
Sudden relief mimics an intense high
It's time to understand that all
Bandaids,
are fleeting.
Some cause more than they cover
Countless marks of addiction and desperation,
cover your skin
Come out from under the rug
It's time to heal
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Some people in this world will hurt you;
others are band-aids that will help you heal.
You just have to figure out who is who.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
Like a band aid, I fixed your shattered heart.
Like a band aid, I stuck too much
and now, I just want to be the scar.
Unlike the band aid, I can leave without opening your healing wounds.
And I also get to stay.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC
"Bandaids don't fix bullet holes"
They may not fix bullet holes,
but that will never stop me from placing one over the hole you left me
after you shot me in the heart
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
"Rip it off like a bandaid"
It will sting less,
only for the first second or so.
Too bad I liked to take my time
while pealing the sticky material away -
prolonged pain
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
I ripped you off like a band aid.
Out of my life
Gone for good
But not until I knew I wouldn't need you anymore.
You took parts of me with you
Like how a bandage takes off some skin
Maybe a little hair.
I have healed.
And now, you've pushed me
Knowing I'll trip
Fall
Cut and bleed
Cry.
You pushed me knowing that you'd be able to patch me up with band aids.
And I know that I'll have to rip them off
One by one
All by myself.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
Band-Aids cannot fix
All of our deepest wounds
Or our broken hearts
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
I'm sorry I have to do this
But I'm going to have to rip this off
It'll be fast
I promise
You'll only feel a sting
But me
I've gone through this type of thing
When it's gone
You won't see it anymore
And I hope it won't burn
But what this does to me
Is none of your concern
When this is over
I hope it feels like
Ripping off a band aid
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Feelings aren't just like concrete blocks
You can break me
Manipulate me
Make it seem like it's all my fault
Punch my emotions
Like I'm a punching bag
But as soon as I'm done
Over this torture
I'm done
And you'll never hear from me again
If you want me to stay
Don't **** with my feelings
Don't punch my emotions
And please do not break me
For you see
I've already been broken
And it took me years to piece
Myself back together again
I had to find someone to help me
To be my bandaid
My rock
Without them I'd still be broken
And slowly drifting away
From everything I know
Slowly disintegrating
Into nothing
You see
I'm not like a concrete block
I can be broken
Like delicate china
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
the sunlight slaps you
so you retreat
and you cover up
the blood gets caught in
your white security blanket
and everything is okay
until you step back outside
the light draws attention to
the withered pale skin
and the watery pale wound
it doesn't stop stinging all day
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC