"shards" poems - Hello Poetry

,***how do you know when (a human is too broken?)*** <•> human too broken? like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes you cry the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d, hid by you, not to be found by you at the bottom of the kitchen garbage, but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming, what did I do to deserve this degrading like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended, you know it but still pretend not to see, for you both once loved that silky guise that so heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk, recalling the pleasured admiration, rain remembered from the prior priority of a life consisting of only perfect gifts so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how... remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened, you may hear clear the crackle cackling of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact, even if you do, no repair service you want, can be found, see it nowhere, is it even anywhere advertised? the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet, holey scupperrd holy cuttered so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads no longer function in a tandem, you keep it in the closet closed, in the back, deep hid, where, when it screams why, it can be safe ignored, because ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word, in your globe's dictionary, the parental controls activated by you to save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion, it has been removed so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other, if not weep-well, well enough hid, the fit is off, the fit is off, the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares

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Aug 5, 2018

Aug 5, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC

poetoftheway

how do you know when (a human is too broken?)

,***how do you know when (a human is too broken?)*** <•> human too broken? like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes you cry the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d, hid by you, not to be found by you at the bottom of the kitchen garbage, but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming, what did I do to deserve this degrading like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended, you know it but still pretend not to see, for you both once loved that silky guise that so heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk, recalling the pleasured admiration, rain remembered from the prior priority of a life consisting of only perfect gifts so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how... remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened, you may hear clear the crackle cackling of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact, even if you do, no repair service you want, can be found, see it nowhere, is it even anywhere advertised? the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet, holey scupperrd holy cuttered so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads no longer function in a tandem, you keep it in the closet closed, in the back, deep hid, where, when it screams why, it can be safe ignored, because ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word, in your globe's dictionary, the parental controls activated by you to save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion, it has been removed so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other, if not weep-well, well enough hid, the fit is off, the fit is off, the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares