"fixer" poems
you come to me unravelling from hiding spaces in moist wood
composting yourself as nature does
your head hanging low like vines
fluid as the streams running through me.
i: always convinced of my place as low hanging fruit,
see your streams and carry buckets for your leaks.
i am a fixer-upper.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
wake up in the coffee shop
morning and im the fiend
sippin on anything teamed
we got "mixed and fixer
while i play on elixir"
cross fingers
to count splinters
got more time then long winters
doppelganger and
impostors
hopeless stand
my imaginary children of foster
no one i cant be brought here
ill tell things that are fear
spit acid to show tear
nonchalant
i taunt
cant?
cuz i smell C@__
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Spent my hard earned money buying stuff I seen on commercials
with two singers claiming all they use was the stuff I bought to fix faces.
Both them women got to be telling fibs if they said a little bit of
skin fixer works good did not work and used full bottle and nothing.
I googled them womens pictures and seen how they faces look bad
and messed up and both got blotchy skin and look real tired in pictures.
Seen all them commercials with them woman I am talking about
saying all they used was that stuff but saying did not work on me.
I would be fibbing if I posted I thought those women are pretty
in google search pictures of them without tons of makeup I see on their faces.
No make up do make them look like not so good as women called plain Jane.
Simple telling when women ain't plenty made up or they not wearing skin fixer
when they got them dark circles and darker spots like some pictures I seen when I google.
We got a few women looking very pretty cause they got that natural beauty.
I not grandma old but I got crows feet and cracking lines on my face.
I been trying making up my face with gobs of crap and went to expert at store
where rich folks shop and I know I did not look good like she lied to me
telling me I looked good but that mirror in that store showed me truth.
No more making up this face cause I was born to be what I am not pretty.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
*A long long time ago
Before digital took over the planet.
My grandfather was an airman in WW2.
He never dropped a single bomb
or even fired a weapon in that war..
He was a bit of a pacifist
live and let live was his way.
Instead he aimed camera lenses
at the Germans snapping their country
on his belly lay on the planes belly.
At the airbase in the UK he printed his photographs.
enough to cover an airfield.
He met an English lady in the darkroom.
They printed their photographs together
mixing fixer and developer.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands
He got used to her being there.
When the war ended he returned to the states
and opened a camera and photography shop.
He built a darkroom by hand
when it was finished he went back to England
on a cargo ship
and found the lady from in the darkroom.
he asked her to marry him
and she accepted.
when they returned to New York
he showed her the darkroom he built for them.
On the door was a note
held by a thumbtack
It said I fell in love with you
in the dark
but I want you to follow the light
with me for the rest of our lives.
A year later my dad was born
with a crooked smile and big hands
and also his love of photography.
He had the eye for
color and shadow and light.
After I was born I did not follow the
love of photography.
But would get into trouble at school
for writing poems in the margins
of my work books.
I found grandmas note that was
pinned on the darkroom door
she passed a way a few weeks ago.
And I was moved to tell this story.
Follow the light Grandma love.
look for a big man with a crooked smile
and big hands hes waiting for you.*
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
*The man with a crooked smile and big hands
A long long time ago
Before digital took over the planet.
My grandfather was an airman in WW2.
He never dropped a single bomb
or even fired a weapon in that war..
He was a bit of a pacifist
live and let live was his way.
Instead he aimed camera lenses
at the Germans snapping their country
on his belly lay on the planes belly.
At the airbase in the UK he printed his photographs.
enough to cover an airfield.
He met an English lady in the darkroom.
They printed their photographs together
mixing fixer and developer.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands
He got used to her being there.
When the war ended he returned to the states
and opened a camera and photography shop.
He built a darkroom by hand
when it was finished he went back to England
on a cargo ship
and found the lady from in the darkroom.
he asked her to marry him
and she accepted.
when they returned to New York
he showed her the darkroom he built for them.
On the door was a note
held by a thumbtack
It said I fell in love with you
in the dark
but I want you to follow the light
with me for the rest of our lives.
A year later my dad was born
with a crooked smile and big hands
and also his love of photography.
He had the eye for
color and shadow and light.
After I was born I did not follow the
love of photography.
But would get into trouble at school
for writing poems in the margins
of my work books.
I found grandmas note that was
pinned on the darkroom door.
She had it in the things
I had clear from her room.
she passed a way a few weeks ago.
And I was moved to tell this story.
Follow the light Grandma love.
look for a big man with crooked smile
and big hands hes waiting for you.*
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;
Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;
Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.
Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.
He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.
"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.
A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."
His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!
Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.
He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.
Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.
Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.
Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.
-by Bob B (8-25-18)
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
no i can’t change you or her
God’s wrath is disillusioning you
from hearing yourself or me
or all death’s friends
you think you can fix her
a thousand times like each plate
she’s thrown at you and each fist
she’s swung at you
and i’m telling you God won’t remember
the woman that she used to be
and the counselors won’t help you or her
but you’re a fixer man
can’t fix your back from that one time
she hit it with your old baseball bat
but you’ll fix her one day, right?
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved.
Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.
Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered.
Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride.
They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print.
They were carpenters afraid of their hands. With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.
They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.”
For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?
Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits.
They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.
Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew.
They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds. Then they all died, those blasphemous ********
But at least they washed on the back of their crimes.
At least they danced.
At least they were.
And there may be something to movement in chaos.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC
You towed your broken down
beat up, used, rusted old
Chevy into my workshop
smelling like crap, and looking a whole lot worse
she had a busted engine
sputtered like a plane
(but not in a good way)
you leaked black oil all over my floors
stains of which I still can’t remove
no matter how many gallons of bleach I use
the radiator, well let’s just say
had seen better days
the interior leather seats were torn
and the once slick body
looked like you had ****** off
some mafia kingpin
so I spent my days and nights
greased up and elbow deep,
in your muck trying desperately,
but lovingly
to do what a mechanic does best
and I was leaking time
like I owned it, when I could’ve
should’ve found a more profitable fixer upper
I told myself, no convinced myself otherwise
and eventually, against the odds,
fixed you
then some schmo walks in
a bulging from both pockets
from wads of cash
and grabs you right outta my hands
the you I returned
to a shiny beauty as best I could
with the tools I had
well then, maybe I did fix you
I just never realised, I was doing it
for someone else.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
He's part artist, part alchemist,
but a full-on con, self-professed with post-
graduate degrees in mixology
and the god-given sense to know which
smoldering home remedies will catch fire
(give or take an occasional legal glitch).
His healing pitch is grifted on the easy
comparison of queasily lowered brows to
their indistinctly raised betters. You'll doff
the scoffing face as he pulls back a masking
caparison, and your fever gallops hotly
hoof-in-mouth with an uncontrollable itch.
Tinctures, colloids, salves and potions,
they all have twisty caps, blithe boxes
bubbling over with hypnotic patterns
fashioned to cure your urge to avoid
his futility. First'll come the ****** then
the crumple followed by purse strings loosening.
Don't consider it capitulation.
His assortment of fluid manipulations
bear a singular branding at 100 proof,
and after the recommended daily dosing
(two jiggers with each meal), you'll feel
you're **** erectus made sapient.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 8:15 PM UTC
Preach your colourful knowledge of me,
From a jaw that could hold nothing more than a faint whisper of insincerity
And a flailing bird tangled on your tongue.
But when the rainbow bursts;
Don't attempt to rain materialism down on me
Stuff your grocery store heart shaped chocolates up your nose.
And stop dreaming up all the sadness I stand for.
I am not your fixer-upper-er.
I am whole, trust me,
The serpent rejoins once cut
And heals.
I am a serpent, rainbow and colourless.
Materialistic seduction...
Give me a minute while I puke fluro ***** on your shoe,
You are the needy one and I remain whole...
Scuffed and cracked
I am healing, alone.
But I am whole.
Mixing strings of blues, greens and pinks
Into one strand,
There are scars.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
Wee Wee Missure
excusez-moi pendant que je prends un pipi
gardez votre imagination les chaussures haut refaites un talon de la voie
les cris si désolés j'ai un pauvre but
projetait de le fixer plus **** aujourd'hui
si triste que je ne garde pas de contrôle
le monsieur partez s'il vous plaît
envoyez-moi la facture faisante le ménage
Je mendie humblement votre clémence
Translater translation2.paralink
excuse me while I take a ***
keep your fancy high heeled shoes out of the way
whoops so sorry I have a poor aim
was planning to fix that later today
so sad that I do not keep control
mister please will you move away
send the cleaning bill over to me
I humbly beg your mercy
Gomer LePoet...
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
Strong is the foundation,
but renovations needed
Signs of wear from past involvements
Darkness settles, absence of power
Then an unexpected luminescence
Out of the fog and into the light
Broken, healing, mending
Like an emotional carpenter,
She begins to repair his wounds
New relationship is formed
But scars from the past causes doubt and fear
Stubbornness, insecurity, irrational immaturity
Relationship agreement null and void
Heart dipped in liquid carbon
Shattered across the slab
Alone again, button of
Self destruct almost activated
But a change is brewing
God is present, never alone
Lessons learned, heart at ease
Sharp is the mind, priorities clear
Calm and peaceful, open heart
Confident, self worth known
Fixer upper upped and fixed?
Only time will tell
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
The ruins of my sorrows wash up on the shore of my thoughts.
I look at the wreckage as I board the the dock of sailed dreams and bright stars-
The stars that lead the way.
I survived.
I reach down to inspect the damage, trying to pick up the broken pieces.
I look at the heart in my hand and remember how it once was beautiful.
Like the sounds of the heavens battling the emotions of the lands-
A sound that could send chills down the legs of the rocking chair,
And silence the creeks for once and for all.
The sounds that I’ve always taken solace in.
Because God is in the rain- and rain makes things grow.
Just hoping one day he’ll rain on me.
I dust off the broken heart, put it on my sleeve, and carry on.
I need to carry on.
I repeat this in the depths of my mind hoping to ignite the courage
Of the lost souls of Beowulf and Odysseus- Praying that Jesus will come through.
They always said that you become the stories you listen to.
So I try to paint my thoughts with memories of heroism-
In hopes of one day I might save myself.
The broken mirror on the wall shows more than my reflection.
The light gleaming through the cracks are refracted just enough
to show me the universe withheld in my eyes.
But without my heart, it all seems so distant, so far, if only I could reach in and grab it.
The smooth surface sends chills down my fingertips and heartbreak down my soul.
I close my eyes and bow my head. I kiss my finger and send the message to God.
Such a humbling experience to see all that you have destroyed because of your own folly.
If only I had payed more attention. If only I had gotten in God's good graces- If only.
If only I had died.
If only the pain I felt was proof of immortality could I find comfort fates company.
If only the voice so many have claimed to hear had whispered me to my dreams.
I can fix this.
My dad was a fixer. Only he left too soon to show me how.
But I’m sure I can find pieces of him when I clean up this mess.
And I’m sure I’ll also find the worst pieces of myself.
I guess I'll try my luck.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
ashley is dimples and bangs
she is freckles scattered from cheek to cheek,
the sun never failing to show her love.
ashley is shy smiles paired with fiddling hands one moment,
a wheezy laugh with an arm clutching her aching stomach the next.
ashley is a fixer.
she’s like an addict looking for their
next head rush,
instead of tracking down drugs,
she tracks down projects.
people who are hurting,
drains that aren’t draining,
hearts that are breaking.
doing anything
and
everything
in her power to mend what she can.
she will put the hurting minds at ease with words of affirmation,
she will fearlessly rid the drain of the ball of hair the size of a small animal,
and she will piece together the breaking hearts
with the tape that is holding her own broken heart intact.
ashley is strong.
unaware of her own strength,
and often forgetting that she’s been to the darkest places and back.
she is patient.
knowing that sometimes you have to endure the bad
to later revel in the good.
she is compassionate.
giving out more love than she receives and willingly doing it again the next day.
ashley is
unmatched.
She will sit with you in the dark when you are unable to find the bright side of things
She will validate the feelings that you thought no one would care or dare to comprehend.
She will walk into your life and leave a footprint on your heart,
making it absolutely impossible to remember what life was like without her.
She will change your life without even trying, without even realizing.
and yes, change can be scary,
but things are never as scary as they seem
when you’ve got a best friend
like ashley.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 2:45 AM UTC
As you close the curtains
I close my eyes too
But i still feel
What ive always felt for you.
And when the sun awakens,
So will you.
Maybe youll apologize,
Sometimes you do.
Whats been accomplished here
Im not sure.
Im constantly on a swing
Back and forth from
Can i love myself
And love you.
Im not sure what my goal is here
Maybe i was placed as a lesson
For you.
Im tired of being the lesson
I want to be the prize.
I want to feel desired.
Empowered.
Your eyes locked in mine
I am the fixer
I dont want perfect
I will always water you
Even if its not worth it.
If i dont get anything back
At least i am with purpose.
But your soil has dried out
I pour myself over
Nurturing you
Every last drop
I squeeze out to water you.
Your roots are too damaged
My flow still everlasting,
I seem to think.
But each drip you take
Is thrown away.
I take the water
That I desperately need
And give it to you.
Clinging to each moan
Each time we electrute
Infinite energy.
My *** is empty
Yet i know I have more,
So i keep going.
Your eyes and mine
Align.
But then the stars say, its time.
You cant turn from truth
When its looking your right in the face.
Begging you, to not run away.
You need to take a look deep inside.
I am the prize.
But we've lost track of time
Fun times turned to addictions
Actions turned vindictive
I know that white powder is so pretty
But its not a human being.
I miss being
The one you want to touch
Even if its lust.
Yearning for the day,
That i look in the mirror and can accept my face.
In my eyes,
All i see is damage.
Most days i see in grey.
I want to explore.
******* tired of being ignored.
So please step up,
Do you have what it takes?
If not, sit down
And let the next man take your place.
I have too much love to give
Jokes to have
Laughter to live
To sit here
And accept this fate.
Na
Im taking control of my day.
Ill be the one to put a smile on my face.
K.c
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 8:40 PM UTC
I was such a lonely person
And I had no distraction
I put on a face
For other’s satisfaction
My friends were fake
Was I a mistake?
And my name
Is Eleanor Rigby.
I am lost
Floating in a tin can
There’s no hope for survival
When people hear my words
My mind is gone
My mind is scattered like the stars
Still,
My eyes shine as bright as the sun
My heart feels blue
And there’s nothing you can do
And my name
Is Major Tom
Music is my soul
I am an eighth note
Bouncing along a musical staff
The guitar strings intertwine with my heart strings
I’ve got punk rocker vibes
I jam
I twist
I shout
And my name
Is Sheena
He loves me
The way he looks at me
In the moment
I mean everything
His thoughts
He’s confessed
And my name
Is Eileen
My support is endless
My love life brought me down
But my friends lift me up
When I found my one
My friends supported me
And my name
Is Jude
Take off the mask
Remove the disguise
Who am I?
You’re in for a surprise
I am the fixer.
The lover.
The keeper.
I am the ballet dancer
Graceful, yet vulnerable
I am 13, wide-eyed
And naive
I am 30, dealing with more
Than a kid should
Ever see
As time passes
You discover yourself
Become one with yourself
Love yourself
Or hate yourself
As time passes
You grow
Into a brand new being
As time passed
It’s almost as if
My brain said,
“I’ll have sadness
With a bit of
Happy on the side.”
But that has passed.
Time
Has passed.
My brain is
Eating up that
Happy side dish like
There’s no tomorrow.
Now I smile like
I don’t care.
I live in a world
So unaware
Of what lies ahead
And sometimes
Of what fell behind
And my name
Is Sarah.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
You are not broken, but all of the boys who
want a fixer upper find you.
They mistake their hips for hammers,
and their kisses for nails.
Their fingers, cold and impersonal,
as much hoping for a crack as
they are making them,
find the nooks and crannies,
and press caulk into them.
Shine them with whispers meant to
bring back the natural glow of a healthy woman.
They balance their hips on yours,
like that yellow bar on the mantlepiece,
is the wood straight?
is the construction sound?
No, they whisper, no it's all wrong.
Back to the drawing board, then.
This time, they'll build you right,
they promise.
Sand down all of the splintered places
where the last boys hands gave out before
your corners were womanly curves.
Dip your eyelashes into fresh black paint,
watch it drip onto your cheek
and leave it.
Watch it drip down your neck
and paint over it.
They don't believe in luck,
so they fit the curve of your hips to theirs,
not meant to be, not yet,
but you will be.
Their hands, coarse and broad,
turn your bitten, smudged lips
into things straight from a *****
open and lush and
beg me, baby.
So you do.
You use all of the words he put into your mouth like rocks:
all honey and sweetie cakes and let me love you.
They broke your teeth going down, but
they taste like the sting of a slap coming back up.
You use all of the soft places that he made on your body:
let him fill them with caulk until they are unrecognizable,
until you, too, are unrecognizable.
You show him the constellation of scars across your shoulders:
whisper do you love me now? with your hand prints wide
across my spine, the sting of your sander against my waist.
You teach him about desire
with open legs
and open lips
and the tattoo of his touches on your body.
You teach him about sadness with sharp,
corners that are shoulder blades.
He doesn't recognize those, asks himself
if he missed a spot,
so you show him your splintered teeth
broken back
burned thighs,
ask him if he wants to try again.
Don't wait for an answer.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Open scars poured with liquid emotion
Potion
Elixir
Fixer
Forgetter
Step on toes and apologize later
Loose talker
Blinded intelligence
A pure soul and virtue of benign benevolence
I love you I hate you will you be my friend
Burn down the next liquid, my throat needs to mend
To spew out opinions and blind web read facts
You need to be my friend, I’m not what you think
I don’t stink
I don’t *****
I ***** a little
You do too
Just to have someone next to you
You swallow your pride and face what you see, but
It makes you feel whole to wake up next to me.
Tell me I’m beautiful tell me please
Tell me when you want me down on my knees
I slap you with putrid feelings of hate
That I drank to provide you with a willing debate: do I **** this ***** or get out while I can
But you’re only just a ***** lonely old man
I’m in your house so I can easily leave
But I won’t
Because you wanting me is such a reprieve
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC
*A long long time ago
Before digital took over the planet.
My grandfather was an airman in WW2.
He never dropped a single bomb
or even fired a weapon in that war..
He was a bit of a pacifist
live and let live was his way.
Instead he aimed camera lenses
at the Germans snapping their country
on his belly lay on the planes belly.
At the airbase in the UK he printed his photographs.
enough to cover an airfield.
He met an English lady in the darkroom.
They printed their photographs together
mixing fixer and developer.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands
He got used to her being there.
When the war ended he returned to the states
and opened a camera and photography shop.
He built a darkroom by hand
when it was finished he went back to England
on a cargo ship
and found the lady from in the darkroom.
he asked her to marry him
and she accepted.
when they returned to New York
he showed her the darkroom he built for them.
On the door was a note
held by a thumbtack
It said I fell in love with you
in the dark
but I want you to follow the light
with me for the rest of our lives.
A year later my dad was born
with a crooked smile and big hands
and also his love of photography.
He had the eye for
color and shadow and light.
After I was born I did not follow the
love of photography.
But would get into trouble at school
for writing poems in the margins
of my work books.
I found grandmas note that was
pinned on the darkroom door
she passed a way a few weeks ago.
And I was moved to tell this story.
Follow the light Grandma love.
look for a big man with a crooked smile
and big hands hes waiting for you.*
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
*She was ethereal.
So naturally beautiful.
She loved to fix broken things.
A birds wing,
A broken doll,
A China object,
Me.
She found me sad and broken
And she fixed me as good as new.
I loved her beyond everything.
But once I was repaired.
She let me go.
And my heart broke into
A million pieces.
So badly
That it can never
be repaired again*
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
The rednecks didn't see it.
Obviously, many of us did.
The bigots refuse to acknowledge it.
Although we weren't.
Nothing about the redheaded clown fool us.
All his connection seems to be corrupt.
And now they turning color like the rainbows.
Still, the foolishness continues on.
When you defend a communist based country which your money seems to have been built.
But tear down your own agents of the best.
You were only fooling yourself.
Now your lawyer became wise.
He has a family with he mustn't cut his ties.
Your FIXER is a corrupt guy.
Not only him many others falling by the waste side.
Run Trump Run.
The feds are coming, the feds are coming.
The supporters that hated upon the best-qualified woman.
Now trying to defend this fool even more.
And look at his second in command.
He makes no sense.
Standing in the background like a fool too.
Cause the redheaded clown found him a flunky and a fool.
But this CONGRESS that attacked President Obama now facing their own election drama.
We aware now that Obama always stood taller than the clown.
Even those against Hillary must admit they didn't want a woman running the country.
Democrats women are more outspoken.
I can't say it's in their DNA.
But their spouses let them say what they have to say?
Can't say much about this first robotic lady presently in the white house.
We know in some opinions only she seems to have a husband.
Who's a louse?
Run President Run.
We were very aware you were dumb.
Run, run, run but you show can't hide.
A classic Temptations line.
Now, look at others trying to distance themselves from the man.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
chasing other people's dreams
like a star catcher with a net
she holds onto hope
while deceiving devastation
reaching out her hand
for the next victim of inspiration
baring scars upon her body
like battle wounds of lifetimes before
each cut from failure of another disappointment
leaving her exhausted, bruised and sore.
she's a rescuer-
a fixer upper
new siding on an old slab house
fresh paint on horribly marked walls
fresh breath in a room of stale air.
her heart beats at the ache of another
tears ravage her own cheeks
for the sake of someone else's heartbreak
she's a rescuer
a fixer upper
for another person she will always wake-
while waiting for someone to save her.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
she's all addicted
to the controversy of a villain
she made up to please
mommy and daddy
when I hadn't
even touched a part of her soul
forever ready to rewrite me
drop of the hat
uninvite me
like she invited a wolf
but I'm fighting my own
halfway across
the world
I don't
have the kind of time she wanted
when she tried to pretend
that I'm haunted
all for the sake of
inviting
herself in to repaint
she saw me she thought
fixer upper
but it's rougher
to watch me rise
it's easy to watch
someone suffer
when you think
I've got it better
it'll never
come around
to catch me
surprise
when it turns out
you're faking
and all of the rules that you're breaking
and ignoring
are recording
the score while you're
trying to pin it all on me
leave my name out of your mouth
so mommy and daddy will be proud
the bad man
can't get you now
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 4:19 AM UTC