"repairable" poems
Cruel
His words cut like a knife
Screaming through the ears like its piercing the heart
The damage done
Repairable?
Who knows
His words shatter the mind
Like the window as it hit’s the tree
The damage done
Will it be repaired?
Unsure
His words hurt hitting her in the belly
Feels just like that baseball hit by the bat and slamming home
Can it be forgiven?
Doubtful
His words are real
Just as a kiss on the cheek is real
His words create anger and fear
Like a stalker heading for his victim
Will it vanish?
Repaired?
Isolated?
Abandoned?
His words hurt drawing tears
His actions far worse than any word
Her mind alone
Split in a million pieces
Can He fix it?
Does He even care?
Who knows
Her lips cry out in anguish
Begging for His strength
Receiving nothing
Nothing at this point
But
Cruel intentions
Written by: Jennifer/Niyahlove all rights reserved
Dec 6, 2009
Dec 6, 2009 at 5:40 AM UTC
Leaves alight
Ice in my veins
calmest crawling calamity,
Slowly enraging serenity
Ashen fall
Forever frail and perishable
An insignificant mass of beautiful petals
Crushed beyond repair
You don't want to hide it
You know what's there
I didn't do it for me
I did it for you
And that's what helped me bloom
I was gone and you were there
Repairable don't you see?
The holding ground of your roots is strong
You weren't affected by the storm
Show me daylight,
Show me warmth
Let my sweet serendipitous buds form
I would say it is the end of crumpled leaves
and worn out weeds
But truth be told
I will always be close to withering
So endure the inevitable
Entwine our pedicles and
Let's claim the soil together
Please never rely on weather
My bloom is more reliant
on the Sun than you might think
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
I hid them,
Buried them,
Bottled them.
I kept them from showing,
Wore a mask to cover them,
Made them unnoticeable.
They would build
And the bottle would pop
And they’d pour out.
I could control them,
Back into the bottle
Until the top blew again.
But you urged me,
Told me to break the bottle,
Keep them from building.
I shattered the bottle,
Now they roam free
And they’re hard to control.
The bottle,
Un-repairable,
Can’t be used.
I can’t hide them,
Bury them,
Bottle them.
These tears would fall,
Not on my face, like now,
But into the bottle.
My screams,
None could hear,
For those were bottled.
Tears,
Screams,
Emotions….
All were bottled
Until the bottle broke
When you took my hand.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
I lost a part of myself when I let you in. You took me over slowly and then all at once, the way waves do in a storm. It all starts calm. It's truly beautiful in the beginning, but the damage after the tempest is often left not completely repairable for years. They say time heals all wounds, but maybe all time does it help us forget how broken we really are.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
I am not a robot.
Underneath this skin
are tissues, and organs,
bones, and liquids,
none of which were constructed.
I feel real things,
and try to understand them too.
I have not masked intelligence,
emotion, and humanity;
dissected and interpreted
the world around me,
and plugged it in.
My brain is human;
it did not learn human,
but lives human.
It was not programmed,
and taught human.
I receive no signals
from remote remotes,
and super computers.
I do not speak code;
only human
I am irreplaceable,
repairable and invariable.
I will learn,
and what i do not
will destroy me;
like any other
human being.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Have you felt so heartbroken,
Wishing you were omnipotent.
Do you sometimes feel worthless,
Your future seems uncertain.
Weak and hopeless,
Unwanted and useless.
Forgotten and placed aside,
Left alone outside.
Everything so surreal,
No longer appeal.
Love was desirable,
Like an amazing miracle.
I thought I was responsible,
Thinking this was bearable.
But I was definitely incapable.
I was so terrible,
I thought this relationship was durable
But in reality, was just vulnerable.
I thought this pain was repairable
The end was inevitable,
My predictions were simply remarkable,
As it ended up really horrible.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Life is like a good suit.
Expensive to maintain at times,
Flashy when done right.
And sensitive to the things around us.
Life is like a good suit.
Life is like a silk suit.
Delicate to the touch.
Easily worn down.
And repairable when given time.
Life is like a silk suit.
Life is like a suit. So wear it carefully and show it to a few, because life is like a suit. It needs careful care, and love with every wear.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
I hoist the old scarred oaken chair
onto the workbench.
I think about how this nick
and that scratch
and that unglued cross bar
happened
and how many years it has withstood
the heavy weight of the humanity
who have found it and laid their burdens upon it.
And I give thanks that it is still repairable
still of use and available
for the brief respites
of those it serves.
I give thanks that I too
am still on the workbench.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
I have this constant dream in which I am asking everyone in my life to punch me in the face
I know I can take the pain
But it’s the idea of being hurt that always brings supporters
Punching myself in the face does not achieve the same thing.
If you feel that I did you wrong, punch me in the face.
I know I can take a beating more than I can take myself.
My body is repairable, at least to a certain extent.
But the hits of those i have wronged are not repairable, that is why they are hitting me
I don’t want to **** myself, I just want pain
Just to feel what, I have made others feel.
Understanding is everything.
But physical pain also blocks the emotion
Punch me in the face
So I don't have to deal with what I did
Hurt me, the way I feel I hurt you.
Please,
Someone do it, or I will do it myself.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
You say your broken, at least your repairable
I'm a broken man and the weight on my shoulders can be unbearable
But you know what ? **** it! Anyone who says we can't make it can **** it, the last thing were gonna do with our young age is kick the buck it!
Now I know your a strong girl and don't need to lean on a man
All it really is, is me sayin' I got your back forever when I reach down and hold your hand
I'd never call you my ***** you'd be my "partner"
We could lie in this ditch together and share our artwork
Cause I know even if I was rich, the last thing you'd care about is my money or how much my cars worth
-J.A.M
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
You've got a sign flickering in your eyes
that says,
"Caution: Fragile"
I know you're breakable
I know you don't wanna fall
But if you just let go
Just this once
Stop standing so tall,
Anchored to the floor,
So strong
I promise
I will catch you
And I will hold you in the palms of my hands
For as long as you allow me
I will not drop you
You are fragile
Teetering on the edge
But I am broken
Shattered
Reaching from the bottom
Just to hold you
I think we can help each other
You are not beyond repair
I am not beyond repair
For all the Hell you've seen
I wanna show you how beautiful you are
And so repairable
You are repairable
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
Somehow you have managed to put the pieces back together,
Just to rip them apart again.
Should I feel honored that you chose a different way this time?
I can see the difference here, her and I.
Shall I list you the ways that matter?
What breaks me into repairable pieces?
I am not one for these dramatics, this is way too cinematic.
You don't even know me anymore.
I wish I could forget wanting to be loved.
I wonder if everythings not doomed.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
dented and repairable
most smashes are not a write off
and bodywork is not that important
They all look the same in the rain
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
I'm feeling like a hole in the wall
empty but patchable
ripped yet repairable
dead.
There's so much to a name
-would a rose by any other smell as sweet?-
but lately I wonder
about mine.
What does it mean?
And more importantly,
who is she?
I swear, I am more myself yesterday than today's current phase, but I cant remember yesterday to be able to tell myself how to feel alive again.
I don't feel dead.
I just don't feel me.
But who even
am I?
Hello, I'm Nobody. Who are you?
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
I’m the words between the lines you don’t say
Most of me, is made up of assumptions people make, and I let them
Like static characters in your favorite novels who’s unwritten characteristics you make up in your mind
I am a thousand stereotypes to thousands
But in reality I don’t quite fit, and I defy every one of them
I’m the notes in between diminished chords
That clash and don’t belong
I’m that one crooked picture frame
An uneven hoodie string, just a little shorter than what I should be
The zipper that always gets stuck
A loose thread
And I’m an “almost” puzzle piece in a jigsaw puzzle made of glass
Just a shard
A mirror shard
reflecting an ugly past
Which is fine by me
But some days I get sick of being an unending decimal
Because although lots of people want someone who is incomplete so they can fix them
When they learn I am not repairable
No one wants a fractured and scarred little silver lock with cracks all along the sides
If they don’t have the key
No one wants to fill my crevices with little parts of themselves
And I would love someone made out of the darkest ink
Because you don’t need to be whole to be happy
I could trace the smudges they leave to make them beautiful
But no one else sees the world through a clear tape lens the way I do
So I’m stuck
Here
Where no one wants to find me
Because nothing good lives here
Just living in between
REPOST IF you have ever felt incomplete and unwanted
Comment! I love to read your interpretation of my poetry!
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
younger than me, but I'm jealous of you
oh, the headache that ensues
incessant "If you only knew..."
destined destiny, no more excuse
scared therefore silent; reality: nothing to lose
just as unsure, strangely comparable
futile alibi for intimidation's recuse
idle, unmoving; regret unbearable
thought alone, even more terrible
questions surround my small comfort zone
pray for relationship repairable
not broken, but opportunity blown
caustic, coping laughter, you see
I like you, and you like me.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
And for all these piteous things we strive
to make rip and burst and come alive,
I’m dying to find
a sentence contrived
from acrid delusions
and purpose divine.
And though these proportions may seem out of line,
my beliefs will not wither with the passing of time.
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
I told this a stranger and got a tepid reply,
“This is my hand, and that is the sky.
Any other perception, dear girl, is a lie.”
And with that said, he passed me by,
leaving me thinking,
who even was that guy?
What does he know of water and wine
and plagues of flies
and besides,
my inquisition remains trite:
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
The preacher says ‘by and by,
those who are sinners are those who will die.’
But through logic I don’t see why
we can’t seek out the lost and show them the light.
Because why should I feel obligated to ostracize
someone who wears a mask that has more cracks than mine?
Why should I feel fine
telling someone their life could be valid if only they would try
saying hi
to a group that’s been transmuted to shapes with shifty eyes
saying, ‘oh, I’m fine,
and you could be, too, just step in line,
with the rest of the people whose sin has been declined
in the little list of repairable offenses we made up in our minds.’
And at this point, I should resign,
for into these words fallacy grinds,
since now there are not so many minds that align
with the kind that I described.
Likewise, here begs the question why
I can’t seem to decide if my life is mine.
My thoughts are often unkind in the dead of night
when my body swears I’m fine but there’s no denying
my mind is still circumscribing these lies
that I’m tempted to break the binds that I have tied
around the faith that reminded me for a time
that my life
wasn’t meant to be lived in spite.
And I recognize that not everything the world says is right,
that pushing myself to defy the lines that define my inner mind
would not be an easy fight,
but it’s recently come to light
that though I’m not the perfect kind
and my hazy eyes might as well be blind,
I’m learning to serve a guy who is disinclined
to turn from those who turn from the light.
And I’ve come to realize, that though my answer is not so concise,
I might never really properly define
whether or not my life is mine,
But at least I know what I’m living for.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
Momma said to never cry over spilt milk and broken cookies but, she never said anything about a broken heart.
Its just as hard to pick up the tiny shatters and unlike crumbs they are not carpet cleanable, they stay, stain, and burn a hole through the very floor of your soul.
I was told when I was young that nobody can hear the pop of a breaking heart-string so you have to make sure it is never hurt;
But I'm sorry mommy its all my fault! I left it out and exposed and just when I thought it was safe it wasn't!
Not just one string it was all,
I broke my love instrument and now I don't think I can love only fall.
At least not without a new heart for mine is not repairable, no longer even a damaged good but more like a scenario,
of what could have been before everything that was solid ground started quaking, and rearranging itself to fit the profile of that of a being with no other outcome except lonely defeat,
and even though we've been running the long mile,
hope just seems to be the horizon beyond our reach.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
like tear drops rolling over plump, curved cheeks; splattered in pink-- the flushed flesh makes the rest of my skin look milkier than usual.
please, do not make me wait any longer.
i abandoned my wonderland for you, discarding my fairy tale and safe haven. i've come down from the comfort of clouds and angel breath to be here—to be with you.
where have you gone?
i don't belong on earth. all things heavenly belong above, wouldn't you agree? i am far too tangible to exist here amongst monstrosity. my existence on this earth is equivalent to a glass figurine meeting pavement; shattering.
unfixable.
oh, how i miss my wings. the entitlement stripped from me each time i reached out for you.. and come to think of it— you were never reaching back.
bloodshot eyes and a quivering chin. “this is not how i left you."
the ruler of the skies informs me, regarding my ethereal body being distraught.
"you were placed here strong—the earth rippled below your feet. fragility was a part of your whole being, of course, but how could you allow it to overcome you? for you are more than just fragile, you are repairable. never broken, only bent."
so you say.
-- ( and the rest is rust & stardust. ) ➶
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
Straws.
I feel like the phrase the straw that broke the camels back
Every straw crushes me, I need some slack
except my back was broken long ago.
and yet my ‘friends’ keep unloading their straw ammo.
The straws push all positive thoughts out of me
I tell them to stop, but they won’t so where can I flee?
what can I do?
who knew life could be affected by so few
I want it to end yet fear pain
I feel like its making me go insane
I don’t want to be able to think,
I most certainly feel on the brink.
Who can I reach out to without feeling shame,
They already hurt me with that nickname
I know everyone will judge me
I wish I were normal, what a life that would be.
Month by month it gets more unbearable,
and if I got out am I even repairable?
the straws are apart of me now,
I don’t see my life getting much better somehow.
All I want is to block it out
but it bottles up inside me I try not to shout.
Surely nothing can get better than this,
ceasing to exist may finally provide me will bliss.
But in the end, here I am, at the end of my straw
I do not wish to take any more.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
Lock the doors. Shut the windows.
Lock me in this heart of yours.
Your heart is my new home. And I intend to live in it alone. Don't let anyone in, and don't let me out. Please, allow me to stay, and don't make me leave.
This heart of yours, how fragile it is. A work of delicate beauty, perhaps slightly cracked or partly broken, but still, a work of wonder. This is my new home, tattered and torn, but easily repairable.
Your heart, filled with goodness. Your heart filled with love. You may not feel it - you don't have to. The important thing is I do. I feel it, and I know it's true.
I don't care about your past, 'cause I'm too busy thinking of the future. A future with you. I don't care if your heart is cold, let me warm it for you. I know you've been through a lot, but I'm here now. It's all over.
Lock the doors. Shut the windows. I'm never leaving. Not unless you tell me to.
I love you. It's okay if you don't love yourself, let me do that for you. That's my part. I love you.
Lock the doors. Shut the windows.
Let me fix this heart of yours.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
This chemical has you skeletal on a downward spiral
This is not incurable it's repairable
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
It fills my eyes with tears
when I think of all the years
he spent treating you so terrible.
He acted like your heart was paper:
Tear-able.
He thought he could tape it up with lies:
Repairable.
But- tape is translucent,
& the cracks are still, visibly, strong-
so jagged and deep.
& though it's been so long-
one can still see it in her eyes.
I guess not everything
gets healed in time-
or not in the time period
that one would like.
If I may say just one thing:
You are admirable-
through & through.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
They say my eyes are repairable
Like the monitors of a screen,
And I've waited a good while
To live that dream.
They say these plaques laced within my brain can be fixed
So long as they buy a new one
But I know it can't be me
If the photos and memories of my mind are none.
They say my missing limbs can be replaced
Just as the keys that rest upon your keyboard,
Yet I still cannot feel the tingle nor sensations,
Of its response to stimuli, forever ignored.
But why can't I just be me?
My mind, my eyes, my limbs,
They are rebranded - nothing like myself,
So why do people keep hoping they'll find
What they've replaced?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
Isolation.
A dark place.
A cramped up room.
Empty pieces of sanity lying all over.
The walls, pale and thick.
The ache, heartless and as heavy as a brick.
Lying awake, eyes wide open, electrocuted in agony.
Senseless are my nerves, numb is my disposition.
Cold, my body shivers.
My pain concealed.
Left bruised.
Trust no one.
She said, voice grasp and low.
Elongated, fragmented, withered up in a lifeless skeleton.
Bones, shattered, cracked and hardly repairable.
In the darkness I call your name, I see no one, not a sound heard.
Headphones on, diluting and blocking all the extra background noise.
I wish...
But no one answers
Silence
Sweating but freezing, hot but cold.
Ice on fire.
My nightmares, to unfold.
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 10:06 AM UTC