"mendable" poems
I know I am not really lying on the beach
Eyes facing up towards the sky
Where I really am is in Vienna
In a small classroom filled with fourth graders
Sitting in a circle in a room
That was decorated in glow in the dark stars
And a fake camp fire next to a cardboard cutout of a wolf
I remember learning about the Oregon Trail
And how cowboys would campout underneath stars
Guns close by so other dangerous creators wouldn’t be
And looking at the fake stars in that room
I was in another world, a realer world
Where the cosmos didn’t make stars
Bullets did
Silver bullets meant to hit werewolves
Who were so compelled to howl at the moon
They forwent the odds of being gunned down
And so easily they could be when the moon
Lit perfectly their silhouette
Naked in plain view
All the stars were silver bullets
One that never met their target and flew
Past the wolfs and up into the black sky
Where they pierced the world’s barrio
The bullet holes became not stars
But un-mendable scars
From men who wanting to mutilate
The sky’s beauty with weapons
There to remind me
When the lights turned on in that classroom
The glowing little stars melted into the white popcorn ceiling
And as we, the fourth graders, disconnected our circle on the floor
The reality of the origin of stars I had just come to know
Never left me and the stars I see at night now
Are not as real as the ones I saw that day.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
The feeling is never mutual. One person does while the other is responsible. A heart that is mendable because of its tenacity, knowledgeable of the fact that utopia is less than fantasy. Yet, to do it alone.. is nearly impossible. Finding that one is highly improbable. An explanation that will never be audible, so instead we listen to what is. **** the "norm" and **** people, I am tired of hearing mumbled curses. Ridiculous verses of what it truly is, and where it truly lies because it is so difficult to love without taping ones pride. My everything has already fallen, and I am without pity. **** the old and **** the needy. All individuals are entirely too greedy, having gratitude for barely bleeding. I am me; and if you do not see me, it may be for a shallow breathing. Heaving from hallows whilst gazing from clouds, so strung out but highly aroused. Questing for exchanged vows, told to be better off by myself. I have heard to listen to your brain for your heart will stray, though my heart is decisive when my mind is arrayed. Stay, go... Stay, go, stay is how the story goes. A beginning with no close betrayal by those never suspect of foes, yet a wolf in sheep clothes.. Always building up anticipating the blow. Continual drinking, refusal to grow since I would rather not remember the feeling at all.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
How does one lose a creature gracefully…?
Is it possible to just be okay with a quick goodbye under the hum of those awful fluorescent lights? Would it have been easier, kinder, softer, if the lights were lamps scattered about the space, yellow and murmuring? When does the gut-wrneching tightening stop? Will I ever let the sadness of it leave my chest?
Sitting in this complacent grief even months after it all is kind
I know that the grief will let me cry and I know that when I do, it doesn’t judge me for my “I wish things could go back to normal.” Because regardless of how familiar the New Ways become, it still isn’t the same. I am bookended by these two creatures that have and continue to adore the Earth I walk on. But the Old Ways stick with us for longer than we’d maybe like.
But in filling that little empty nook, the small nest where a dog named Nelson used to lie, I’ve forced myself to grow, to become changed.
My adult life started when I got Nelson, and it started again when I had to let him slip through my trembling fingers. And it continues on with this new creature named Franklin, who sits just to the left of that Nelson shaped divot.
Loving things that leave you utterly shattered is what makes us so mendable, forgetful, endlessly desperate for devotion…
The whole scene will replay in 10 years time, and I will be even more ruined then.
Jul 6, 2023
Jul 6, 2023 at 2:53 AM UTC
I wasn't a crayon
or a pen
or a marker
or a highlighter
or whatever it was you used me for
to fill in your empty spaces.
I wasn't your therapist
even though I'm studying to be one
even though I've always wanted to be one
even though everyone else used me as one
but you were supposed to be different-
even said you would be.
I wasn't mendable.
I'm no puppet
I'm no object of manipulation
I'm no tool for your satisfaction
yet you assumed I was palpable
and your hands were everywhere.
I'm human
not a product of your imagination.
I'm my own color,
my own healer.
I am myself,
the self in which you never knew.
The self that ran away from you.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
You "don't want to hurt her" by telling her you don't like her. You continue to talk to her. Flirt with her anyways. Nothing serious. Bored. Selfish. Lonely
By doing this she falls for you. She falls for your words. She believes in your falseness.
You stop talking to her. Cut off.
You hurt her
Hearts are not toys, Hearts are not always mendable, Hearts are fragile. Please treat them with RESPECT
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Obnoxious arguments; I rant only
My words, shard glass tearing souls
No exception is there, my wrath is equal upon all
Though for you, are the wounds mendable.
Excuse myself in rage, do I never
A barrage do I release, to free myself
Humaneness, my preach to oppose another
The hurt I inflict, is remembered by my own.
As your silence befalls me, my guilt grows
My thoughts erratic, not whole
What was spoken, can not be refunded
A friend, a foe; my acts deceive.
The loathe towards myself, my cell cast
Forgiveness a key, you grant.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
I am fragile,
Yet I have known a sturdy heart.
And because I've had to carefully piece my heart back together in order to love you,
I know I am mendable.
At first, I was near positive I had only magnified your love for me because of my insecurities
But now I am everything except apprehensive.
My love feeds on your love
And that is how I know it exists.
This is how I know love exists:
Because one dark sky,
3,000 stars,
88 magnificent constellations,
and an extremely uncomfortable park bench told me so.
That night I walked barefoot through the tall grass until the feel of your warm breath on my neck lifted my heart so high I swore I might never find the ground.
And since that night,
I still never have.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
To the bitter end
From the burnt beginning
Photographs covered in blood
Reminders of the spoils of winning
Leaving it all behind
Regrets only real in your head
The truth is all in your mind
Turning it over and out in your bed
Some things only seem real in hindsight
And others only in the moment
Events only palatable after the fact
Places where we all feel the same atonement
And look back realizing everything was ******
Knowing nothing can change what's happened
But find solace in that the future is mendable
Gasping to grip the message in the bottle...
And cap it
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
To be a willing participant
to be mendable / moldable
To differentiate between
desires / destiny
inner peace / inner desires
to see change
To know what you are talking about
and feel confident to do so
To be in the right place at the right time
And keep trying
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
I wish our hearts were mendable,
so that we can prepare ourselves for
many more heartbreaks!
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 1:31 PM UTC