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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.
Begin,
   We see in this moment,

Broken,
   Spoken our ductaped fixes,

The trajectory of the bricks is straight for my heart.

Break apart the arts I've invented in my mind,

Of which you're the inspiration.

Perspiration running down my face,
   As I realize my place in the world.

No space for a broken mind and shrunken heart.

Pull apart the synapses that hold me together,

It's as if,
   Things almost got better...

We all coast to the end of our tracks,
   Via the cracks in our walls.

Who falls through?
   We never know.

It just goes to show,

The most we've ever known,
  is never sleep alone.

~Robert van Lingen
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!"
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you:
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tank
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nose
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
CK Baker Jul 2018
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to ****
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Daniel Jul 2018
The lull of a restless night relieves my senses
It's monotone silence maintains my breath
The cold night breeze enters through an open window
It whispers soft tunes and attempts to put me to sleep
The humming of an exhausted laptop helps me decompress
It distracts me from overthinking and blocks out my stress
As the night goes on it starts to rain
It comforts my senses and cleanses my pain
This time-worn house cracks and creaks
It talks of troubled times and how it came to be
This place I call home proves i’m never alone
And it's always there to support me
3rd poem. Enjoy :)
Lazhar Bouazzi May 2018
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
Amy Leigh Sep 2014
Little cracks like weeping windows
we grow opaque
and under the pale blue moon
(tainted)
you seep into my soul


© A. Leigh
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
A wall runs low against a dirt hill,
Made of cracked stone
And shattered granite.
Leafy greens climb up the wall
From the low side,
Creeping into its crevice.

A visit to the hill
Was not in my thoughts
As I was reminded by
My nightly sigh.
Perhaps it'd be better
To roll up the grass
And murmur musings
About my beloved.

So I turned away,
My shirt collar to the dirt.
Wind parting my hair as a
Whisper wisps by my ear,
"The green cracks await, my dear."

At a click,
My heart stopped.
Ecstasy poured through me
As my world rocked.
It was her:
My Queen.

And so we laughed
While we hung beneath a tree,
Two with nature
But one with me.
Anecandu Jul 2018
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
J Oct 2018
Come to think of it,
the human existence
is full of unabating
obstacles that make
it quite impossible
to traverse without
stumbling and falling
through the cracks.
But that’s the beauty
of it, I guess.
And if you look
closely enough,
that’s where some
of the hardiest things
grow...

...through the cracks.
Grow despite your pain.
mslu Nov 2018
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

. . .
KM Hanslik Jul 2018
Keep your eyes soft and your dreams
up on the highest shelf so you won't take them down too early;
keep everything that you spill in the dark locked
behind your teeth during the day, don't bring it out before dusk;
like secrets we drip over sidewalk cracks
from cotton-candy sticky fingers and leave our names
dissolved under each other's tongues, the warmth of you is keeping me company
as I try to crawl out of my blood again, they told you to leave
a bread-crumb trail in case your heart becomes too watered down by just visiting
to even remember the vacation at all; you carry
kisses on the knuckles of amputated arms,
driving through parking lots with your seatbelts on,
collections of constellations growing
in the bruises on the insides of your thighs, reminders
of salt & the whites of your eyes;

I'll always carry you around
like scuffed knees and the last time I told you "I'm okay",
I wanna press my fingers into you until your skin is melded
with fire and scraps of things that I could never be,
I hope steel rods grow out of your bones and I hope you gather
bruises before you gather dust,
we are all a little lost and lonely but that never stopped
the accumulation of well-spent nights
coughing up new ways to spell my name
(it sounded foreign before you)
leave this on repeat,
we're going in again.
Sammie wells Nov 2013
Storms stirring
  Winds surging
 Thunder roaring  
          Lightening cracking
             Rains lashing
          Waves bashing  
Grounds Shaking
                  Lakes Bursting
Cracks Emerging
   Lands Overturning
       Sky's Blurring
                      Streets Burning              
         World's Disturbing
        all Submerging

                         Life's Fading

                    No Escaping!  

                         No Returning!!
**** hath no fury like mother nature scorned.
ryn Dec 2014
Pinholes
punched through
my
canvas of night

An
array of stars
strewn across
Darwin's
blanket of black

Quiet
and
reassuring
are my
Northern Territory
lights

Like salve
to my
mind,
soul
and
inconspicuous cracks
I can see more stars here than I ever could back home...
Incubus' "Wish You Were Here" came to mind.
Hayleigh Nov 2016
One day you'll find someone who makes all those broken pieces of your heart feel like the most beautiful jigsaw in the world, who cherishes your cracks and fills them with gold dust.

She wasn't wrong when she said you deserved better.
April Feb 2018
Two different worlds
Two seperate skies
And only one that they can see

Inside my mind
When darkness falls
There is no other soul but me

Alone I pace
In deepest night
And no one takes my hand

To lead me from
My shadowed tomb
Where I am doomed to stand

Ah, pray for me,
Though kindness helps,
For only love can save me now

A lonely girl
Lost long ago
Who does not trust, and knows not how

Too often left
Though many cared
And no one saw the pain inside

That lonely girl
The happy mask
Was made so carefully to hide

But now it cracks
The paint wears off
And someone soon is bound to know

And steps will tread
The lonely walks
Where only I’m allowed to go

Perhaps at last
Someone will break
The wall I’ve built around my heart

But no one will
For all have eyes,
And I have been too long apart

And so, alas
For here I stand
A lonely girl in a shadowed land.
Daisy Marrow Sep 2013
I am not superman.
I carry around guns for protection.
I have killed many
And never was sorry.
I have stolen from men
who have stolen from others.
Do not look at me as a savior,
Not even as a big brother,
because I am nothing of a role model.
My wings have broken
and I don't even have a place to call home.
Pain is written on my skin with the smirk of a devil
leaving cracks all over for sorrow to sneak its way in and bury itself deep into my bones.
So give me hope because I'm not man enough to create my own.
I keep putting other's lives before mine hoping that counts as love
but wind up realizing that doesn't count as anything
Trust me, I'm no superman.
I can't even save myself.
I've burned my cape in the fires of **** because I've been there enough
to know I can't wear it anymore.
I have flaws enough to fill the ocean and I'm sick of drowning
and I'm tired of counting dead bodies
and I’m tired of swimming through waves I'm not big enough for.
So hear the violin and piano play my symphony
of the fallen man.
I never said I could fly.
I never said I could save your life.
I never gave up though.
So hold me tight and let me finally break and fall into the arms of someone I can trust and someone I know that'll keep my heart safe buried next to theirs.
I've played wicked games and lost too many times and now I just want to sleep.
I'm tired of turning up black and blue
But I'll do anything to protect you.
If you were never here then I would have ended this a long time ago.
I would have welcomed the salt water into my lungs
Or fall asleep in a tree and meet death in the morning as I hang in silence.
But now I beg for hope because I'm torn apart.
But I know am seen as your superman so I’m going to hang on with all my might,
And live this life with you
as a hero
as your superman.
Dean Winchester
Supernatural
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees ***** and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
Corey May 2016
-butterflies caged by ribs,
a life begging to be lived
red heart beats in time
with the thoughts of my mind

but thoughts can fit through cracks
like the butterflies that are trapped
from mind to lips that part
but not passing through my heart

lips set the butterflies free
along with the feelings inside of me
yet I still feel lost
when I collide with my thoughts

my head is desensitized
perhaps my thoughts are the butterflies
their wings coated with beauty
but they can still come out rudely

although my thoughts are broke
when the words reach my throat
i long to fly too
like the butterflies that broke through

i won't hold my tongue anymore
butterflies free to explore
these thoughts begging to exist
a life begging to be live—
Collab!!!! with Victoria :)
check her out!
http://hellopoetry.com/ultravioletsx/
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
       paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
   most of the time

As a kid, living miles up
  a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
  out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone

   I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
  never learned what
  "superstitious" was,
    like the other kids
        from town

It wasn't the cracks
  in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
  already broken —

It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
  where you belong"


   The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
  muddy stair steps
in the rainy season

Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
     swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged

     I still haven't
found my way out
  of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
    on its own;
   like the way
     rainwater
  in the swollen
creek bed flows:

   And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —

   most of the time


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018
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