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Jaycee Nov 2014
Tears,
Shatter.
The floor,
Cracks.

Against the splashes,
You hear them splat.
Your heart beats furiously.
The girls heart breaks.

She falls.
Eyes shut.
The hits,
Leave cuts.
Her smile,
Vanished.

Against her own will,
She lashes.
Screaming,
"Mother, no!"
I am glass.
I am a mirror.
With a million cracks in me.
Parts are shattered,
never to be fixed.
But I do not want to fix the parts that are not reparable,
those are pieces of me I leave on the ground.
I have given up trying to pick up those pieces,
they are no longer wanted, so they are left behind.

However,
every piece that is in fact reparable,
I am determined to to put back together again,
and start to rebuild myself.
So I am not a smashed mirror,
my glass is too strong.
I am purely a mirror with many broken pieces.
With many fractures -which are able to be fixed.

So do not throw me out,
you are far but done with me,
because I will never give up trying,
to fix every broken piece.
It't not about the fall, its about how you recover from it.
Lady Luna Jan 31
Clarity carves crevices creating
avenues altering adjacent abysses
Which were once thought of
as a waste of space.
Do not be afraid of what is pouring from the mouth
Of a man with closed eyes....
Adjust and close yourself into that space
for you are not a waste
Sometimes, cutting corners makes for
erasing the unnecessary
out of your perfect circle
No matter how crooked it may seem

Definitive decisions dare darting
thoughts to teeter tenaciously
till they are forced to stop polluting
your space with remnants of
what has been carved away
what you have carved away
Pathways to success were never made with
an unfamiliarity of depth, of dirt,
of falling,
and fearing, and failing
But it was also not made with foreign hands
or the vision of someone else
Do not heed the warning
of the man with closed eyes,
for he is incognizant of where
the cracks in your hands may take you.
You're gonna go far, kid.
The rain ticks on the curb
Like a chronometer
Held up to a short race

As a man entering the mall
Feels his pocket for his
Wallet,
A grimace cracks his face.

© LazharBouazzi
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and an empty barn
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak to the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
the holder of those pigs
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Anecandu Jul 10
The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,

Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,

The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
CK Baker Jul 2017
They weren’t all cut from the same cloth
vilified tenders of an iron *****
some were lovers
or lucid dreamers
stage romantics
hidden under jackboots
and skull caps
and switchblade seams

Caste members of a forlorn pack
counting their patchwork and deeds
conjuring demons
around the console
filling their dreams
with radio reds
and dusted quarries
and faded sepia prints

Brass knuckles
and marches of the few
lightening bolt cracks
from a chilling blood moon
death’s dark specter
cold and ominous looms
the cobalt sea swells
near the nestled, and lost
Clubhouse at Kiusta
Show us some light, Mr Jimmy
mslu 2d
serendipity

i've dipped in and out

the mountains i thought i moved took back their strength

and in the taking,
cracked open the ground

leaving me off-balance than before

yes, i should've fought back but


serendipity

i stay dipping in and out

there's no such thing as control

no such thing as handled

a loose grip

had me falling through the cracks
and as i fell onto hard times

the darkness welcomed me

so i stayed

. . .
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