"superglue" poems
They rest all over
whilst I was rooted to the ground,
the water acting like superglue
as my limbs stretched out.
Towards the clumps of land
rods of steal and wood weaved,
to connect and *****
that which we call humanity.
But there were abuse on the rods
formed by hands who'd calloused hearts,
poison coursing through their veins,
but not a single thought was given
for they were innocent in their brain.
Said limbs and rods spiraled out,
as nothing was left to chance,
intertwining everyone's destiny
in majestic flare and grace, grand
like a ballerina's dance.
But the poison was too corrosive,
the termites were too much,
as everything eroded, imploded,
crumbled and buried under
mounds of earth.
But today is different,
a new beginning, a new life.
As if the gods have willed
something better to arrive.
Indeed they came: Ports
forged from purity anew,
where fresh legs are delivered
and old legs whisked away.
For no matter how dark it
was, is, will be,
even during the night,
there always is and will be
a pip of light.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips
Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments
Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
What I thought things will be before I met you?
I thought am lost,
I thought I left all alone...
I lost faith in love
But you made me believe that the is always a way for broken hearts.
When I first saw you..
I glanced on you as if it was superglue that holds our eyes,
Truth is it wasn't superglue
It was just super you.
Handsome of mine.
You are my all in one package..
I found something inside of you I thought I will never find..
Handsome of mine...handsome of mine...
Bravo babe...you handsome.
Handsome of mine.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
After years of
Constant self-abuse
I've finally reached
My breaking point
And I don't think
Superglue will
Do this time
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 1:41 PM UTC
First I wrapped the Belkin cover on my 64GB iPad
tight shut with 3M shipping tape
then I glued one helium Happy Birthday teflon balloon
from CVS Pharmacy on each corner with SuperGlue
and took it down to the beach.
Kneeling at the tip of the tide
I beseeched the gods
accept this offering
heal my disbelief
make my body and soul whole. . .
I’ve stopped adding Abilify to my antidepressant
and I’m scared to feel the emptiness again.
I launched my little ship
on the next outgoing surge
as a Red Bull can bobbed beside
and I closed my eyes in supplication.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC
a coin harlot he showers the day
with his turn of phrase that would sell
a sunken city to a floating fat man
the floating man
isnt really fat
but he belives himself to be
after all they wouldnt lie on tv would they
so he spends his lackluster days
become a deeper shade of golden tan and thinner by
shouting phrases of strangers arguments at
the passing clouds
nawing on the bone of contentious verbal meat
he floats in a life peserver
from the Lusitania
and its well peserved sanitys sealed in a jar
which he grips with a fevered hand they
are both his bane and plastic fantastic lover doll
all rolled into one evil mocking grin rubber ducky smelling henchwoman
she languishes in her sand and shell embrace of her lips
her rubber ducky superglue scent
is her own chinese man trap
after all dosnt every man secretly desire a love affair with
his rubber duck
they wouldnt lie about that on tv now would they
course not, dont be silly
i wait for first my ride home
but failing that
i will swim
goodnight and sleep tight
least you find yourself a rubber ducky
you can f@%ky
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
i want to achieve something
i want to make something of myself but i don't want that to happen by me cutting myself off from my distractions
i want to achieve with self discipline by my side the entire time
why is self discipline so hard? or should i say why is it so hard for me?
i keep myself awake till the early hours of the morning because i can't sleep with all these regrets of what I've not achieved taunting me
so i'll feel bad about myself every night and promise and tell myself things that i will definitely do to change and achieve but that never puts my mind at ease because i never do it or i never stick to it
i stick to these bad habits like superglue but i can't seem to form the habits that i crave
constantly circulating around my head will be saying's like : 'those who do,get' or 'wake up feeling determined and go to sleep satisfied'
every day i ask myself how do i stick to self discipline
the worst thing is i know that no one else can do things for me and they need to be done so i have to do it aswell as wanting to do it
but why can't i just do it
this sounds very irrational and overly dramatic but it's so frustrating to discipline yourself i can't describe it or put it in to words easily
i guess i'll just have to **** it up and get on with things otherwise i'll never move forwards because backwards is never an option even though that's all i seem to be doing at the moment
everything is like a chore to me these days and writing as an outlet seems to be helping but it's not really so much writing that i'm doing it's more like an impulsive 'splurge' of feelings? emotions? thoughts? i'm not sure
everything just seems to be pouring out of me at a rate that i will never be able to handle and i just want things to change desperately.
everyday to me is a waste currently as that's what i'm doing i'm just wasting my days away
every day is an opportunity that i'm not seizing which makes me want to grab myself by the shoulders and shake me forcing me to give a rational explanation as to why i'm wasting every day away.
hopefully what I've just written has gotten rid of all my frustration and might actually help me overcome this
i hate blowing things out of proportion and creating problems but this is just a massive part of my life and if i don't take action the regret i will feel will be enough to destroy me
i can't help but feel that everything is slipping out of my control and i'm at fault
i am the main character in my story and i choose what happens.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
You know
they say that
you should be careful
of the
things that fly out of your mouth,
because you never know
how how it might land.
Just like
how airplanes
try to land on
gusty airports,
trying to
land on the tarmac.
There are chances that it might
just instead of landing
like a kiss of a woman on
the lips of a man she loves,
their teeth and nose get in the way.
Your words,
can land improperly
the airplanes that carry the best of feelings,
turn into dynamites.
Exploding violently.
Misguided missiles
that does nothing but destroy,
just like how the army promised us,
that this will bring us happiness and safety,
but
only at the cost of the nation its bombing,
leaving its soil,
turmoiled,
disfigured,
and produces nothing
But
radioactive plants,
we have come up
with a classification for it,
we call it
insecurities.
So don't ask me if I'm ok,
if you did nothing but
toss explosives at my feelings
cause clearly
I'm destroyed.
So no,
I'm not ok.
You
cannot stitch
tofu
back together,
after being sliced into two.
That
a sorry
will not be a substitute
for superglue,
using it to stick back
broken pieces of me.
So remember this,
that
the next time
you release statements
words,
phrases,
that you have the
power
disintegrate
the person receiving them.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
there will be no miracles here;
no out-of-body experiences
that change your outlook upon life and the universe
nobody will do you any favours
as everybody is too concerned with themselves
there will be no miracles here;
no sudden epiphanies
or realizations that you are worth more than this
no sudden stops when you are crying
that make your tears suddenly halt
there will be no miracles here;
you have to do this all by yourself
find all the missing puzzle pieces
and superglue them together
in fear of them falling apart once more
there will be no miracles here;
you will have to depart on a quest to find yourself
whether it means dying your hair
or letting the person who made you sad realize
that they lost the most precious thing they had
you have to create your own miracles.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
I used to wonder if fire ever felt guilty for its destructive nature but if you think about it a star died to put the morrow in your bones and it was Tom Robbins who taught me that fire is just the reuniting of matter with oxygen
Everything is temporary and I know everything ends and every end is also a start and out of the ashes of beautiful things sprout more beautiful things but I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm not ready for another beginning or maybe I'm not ready for your next beginning but I can't tell you that
Listen, when I was seven I learned to patch up my bones with calcium and superglue but sometimes when the sun comes up too slowly they still rattle when I think about how trivial I am to you
and I know you don't want to hear this but it's the truth of my tears and every inch of my skin
and
.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
*She thought she was broken
So she began to search
She looked through lonely drawers for thumbtacks
Through soft cardboard boxes
For superglue
On worn wooden desks
For staplers and tape
She looked for
Fastening devices
Fixing tools
To piece herself together
She felt her heart was fraying
And that her buttons were pulling at their thread
She wanted to fasten
One sleepless night
To a restful one
One bad dream
To a good one
One rush of tears
To clear eyes
One cluster of confusing thoughts
To a simple idea
But fastening is for dolls
Dolls need fixing, adjusting
People
Don't
We come undone
Only to find ourselves
More strongly
Stitched back together*
~JLH
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
1) I wish people called me Mike Hart, I think it’s a really cool name. I wish I were a year younger and a foot taller. I wish I spoke less and listened more.
2) I’m a love child between science and art but I was raised under the rain in a house made of silver linings. Behind a red door, with gold hearted kids peeking through windows at a world full of endless possibilities.
3) I don’t share a lot about myself. I have dreams my pillows don’t know about and skeletons my closet hasn’t seen. I tend to hide things in the space between the ink and the page where no one can find them.
4) I don’t connect with a lot of girls, but when I do, I tie my shoelaces to their heart strings to stop myself from falling for anyone else. All I have left are scars on my chest from all the times cupid has missed and a few ****** shoelaces.
5) I have a photographic memory but the pictures tend to come out more picasso than canon. I tend to overcomplicate things, I describe hair as the perfect shade of sunset or the sun as that perfect shade of blonde. And I’m called a poet for this.
6) I’m familiar with broken promises and broken people, sometimes I’m doing the breaking. It took me a while to realise that being a man wasn’t about how strong you were to break things but how strong you were to fix them.
7) I love Ice cream in winter, it makes my body shake and reminds me I’m a bit like an earthquake. My laugh has always been a bit too loud but I always believed my life will grow into it.
8) I have holes in my sleeves from where my heart used to be. I locked it up in my rib cage and swallowed the skeleton key. I guess I took it too literal when they said the way to a mans heart is through his stomach.
9) Honestly, I don’t know a lot about myself, but I do know that sometimes my mind is like a paper mâché prison and it’s hard to control the thoughts that get out. Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag. On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.
10) Hi, I’m Dagogo Hart and I’m Human.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
I. (The Upcoming Trio).
There are three.
Of course there is only one right now,
but still, there are three
and they are lurking nearby
like a daddy long legs in the corner of a bathroom;
the more they daintily move around,
the more the need to do something about it.
One is foreign, far away,
young and surrounded by superglue sticky air,
questions having already been posed.
Two will lure you in with lipstick
and teems of sienna hair
but is taken with a drink.
Three, my strangers, is a bit of an unknown,
beautiful with powder blue eyes,
somehow missed on the first of the week.
Older! Would never have guessed.
I ask myself if one out of this group
will join the list of failures-to-be
with their own letters
or flowers
or stories
serving up rich reminders
of amateurish errors.
II. (The Summer’s End).
Before we all enter fall
some actions must occur.
A chat with five of those stepping up
into the world of small rooms,
nights out
and a lack of coins.
A reunion with linguists
for a talk and some tea
after over a year
since food in the market.
There’s also him
before he goes off to learn to teach,
P who had results last time round,
her with guy issues,
a fan of shoes
and the one above the rest
incapable of any words.
Good times ahead
with friends I hold dear
that ought to take place
before we all enter fall.
III. (The Procrastinator).
A ****** a waste
and a bag of mice on the floor.
Newspapers
under every little helps.
Really must be done
now,
now,
but no,
later,
tomorrow,
weekend,
why?
You haven’t gone back yet
to the days of park crossing.
Sort it out mate,
clear some space.
No more than an hour, tops.
How do you expect
to get anything done
if you don’t get up from the chair
and begin to move?
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
humanity is like a dish.
it can go through so much, but eventually it's color will fade.
you can reuse it, and wash it and it'll look brand new.
and if you press your knife to hard or slam it down on the table, it could chip.
and maybe you have super glue just lying around, so hey why not?
fix that old plate up.
and it can be put out for anyone,
anyone at al can use it,
and in a store when you decide hmmm should i buy, and take it home or what
you decide on the way it looks, whether it's the right color or size
and when you decide to get rid of it, you decide on how empty that superglue containers been getten
cause that plate was used oh so many times, it's color has faded
and it has more than just a couple chips.
so to the garbage it goes.
and so
you go back to the store to but a new plate, maybe a different color, this time, eh?
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
PLEASE TOUCH ME I AM CRACKED AND I NEED MENDING YOUR HANDS ARE THE SUPERGLUE I NEED AND YOUR WORDS ARE THE STITCHES
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
You smell like cigarettes... and now I do too.
I don't mind you smoking,
But how funny is it that you smell
like one of the things I hate the most?
That scent always holds on for dear life
onto my hair, when I come home.
I wonder if that is the reason why
I feel the need to scrub myself clean
as soon as I set a foot back into familiar territory.
Or is it the smell of you I want to forget,
so that I cannot recall that you even touched me?
That anyone has ever touched me?
Because the only way to erase the way he held onto me
seems to be to never let you hold me either.
I had grown accustomed to the feeling
of the temple that is my body
crumbling under his too strong, too rough, too fast hands.
To the void in my belly from which he took the butterflies
and replaced them with a distrust that won't go away.
I had become used to picking up the pieces,
to washing them of him one by one
and then putting them back together
with Duck Tape and Superglue
into a puzzle that no one will ever solve,
just like when you're little and figure out
that if you just press hard enough,
any piece will fit together,
even if the whole picture feels wrong
as if that action alone would rewind the world
to a time when he hadn't happened to me yet.
Now that my body has been whole for such a long time,
I cannot bare the thought of being deciphered and pulled apart,
even if it is to build the picture right again
and let you in.
I know I could come to enjoy the smell of cirarettes,
if only because it is yours.
But it was also his
and I prefer telling myself that I just don't like
the way it clings to me
because it is easier than facing the fact
that because of him, I hate the feeling of smelling like you.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
It’s a constant battle between gold and stone in my chest.
One likes to hold a sword to the dark with the whole city at his back.
The other makes warning bells of paper mâché .
Where I come from we’re mostly dare devils.
We cook food on open flames next to a gas tank and race on bridges with no rails. Only one of those is real.
My mind sometimes seems like a doll house made of old computer processors. Attempt 79.
Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag.
On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.
I remember the first time time froze and my heart tried to handwrite on the ice.
I tried to draw her attention with the broken lead pencils I have for lips but I’ve never been a fine artist.
We haven’t spoken in a while, I guess making new friends is easy but keeping old ones is hard.
There’s overgrowth on the road less travelled and it’s hard to find.
And when I feel down for following the crowd, I use poetry as a pendulum to help my mood swing.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
I can't remember the last time i had a real smile.
I lost it somewhere back in 2007.
It hitched a ride on the back of someone's fist and was gone for good,
ran out on me, like a linebacker for the pro's.
I have a smile, i made.
I found some superglue, and some matchsticks, and held it together with my eyes.
I used it to describe the way i wanted people to see me.
It was like a stretched piece of gauze,
because the original scars still cracked through,
and i didn't want people to see,
the real me.
I carry this smile with me everywhere i go,
It's only for public use,
at other times, i hide it away in the kitchen drawer,
with the bills, and important letters,
that i will deal with,
one day.
I sometimes wonder what happened to that smile.
Is it coming back?
Is it taking a holiday?
Is it teaching me a lesson?
Is it fighting through the hard times to get to me, desperately?
Is it waiting until it is, well deserved?
But still, i guess, i will keep the glue,
as this one seems to be working,
and no-one seems to notice,
the difference.
And i appreciate that its not easy to be a faker,
but at least when you get so good,
you don't really remember who you really are.
And that's really ok,
because no-one needs to find that out anyways,
when you become what you believe,
and find it really does come true.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
To my ex.
You destroyed me like I was made of china, and you threw me at a wall.
I keep finding parts of myself that I thought were lost, but some still love you.
Not in the way that I'll ever go back or forgive you, there aren't enough pieces for that.
But in the way that I miss how you smiled, and I miss the part of my heart that I still haven't gotten back.
I miss the pieces of myself that you picked up and kept as a souvenir.
You broke me into a million pieces, but I stuck myself together with pieces of chewing gum and superglue, and I'm trying to love like I've never loved before, but it's hard when I'm not whole anymore.
I can't believe I'm even attempting to fall in love when I'm so broken and lost.
I wish I had never fallen before, because when I fell you didn't catch me, and now you can see where I'm broken.
I'm wondering how anyone can love me if I can't love myself, how they can love me with all my pieces missing and scars from where you hurt me.
I call you a boy, and not a man in the title of this poem because no man would do what you did to me.
No man would hide behind a screen when he shattered a girl beyond recognition.
I look like you were seeing me through the diamond in the ring that you bought me, the ring that obviously meant nothing.
You shattered me, broke me into a million pieces.
I wish I knew I'd be whole again one day.
But until I find myself, and get my heart back, I know I won't be.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC
The spaces between us are filled by smoke
and pools of blood
you inhale poison
while I bleed out my exhales
our broken pieces,
fitting together like shards of glass
tragic back stories,
nights spent on the phone
you say you love me
but i know the lighters come first
I tell you we are perfect together
but my razors kiss my skin
instead of your lips
I know you love her
even though she sees the bottom of the pipe
while I see your eyes
baby you are better then the tar at the end of a blunt
**** it,
if it takes a gallon of superglue,
and a million packs of cigarettes
I swear to you, we will be okay.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
In the end it was the tortured silence that led me to the asylum.
Demons were winning,
I had no power to fight,
They thought I was crazy,
“Send her to an asylum now.”
They’d all turn away as I walked down the hall,
And as soon as I left the whispers would start.
They’d look at my wrists no matter how swiftly I pulled down my sleeves,
And whenever anybody looked at me their eyes held accusations
Rumors, Jokes, Gossips,
Became the daily routine of stabs in my heart,
Sleeves grew longer, hair grew shorter,
Lies became the constant thing, and the truth faded away,
Leaving the constant hum of static.
Heart was broken, nobody cared,
My sobs grew softer as I buried my voice.
I was choking on my words,
And writing them down was the only option left,
One option, no choice.
The gossips grew louder,
It finally wore me down,
They said I felt guilty because I broke his heart,
But, they were all wrong,
He had broken my heart, so I had broken my soul,
The word ‘broken’ became overused.
My laugh became more hopeless than my sobs,
Knife in my hand, positioned at my chest,
My aching heart wasn’t hard to find,
Silence became louder, heart was bruised,
Crushed into pieces no superglue could fix,
*Tell me, who’ll be kind enough to **** me now?*
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
I want to put you back together again
Piece by piece.
I want the struggle of not knowing where things go
And i want the victory of finally making you whole.
But you are more than just a game
You are the shattered fragments of a glass vase
That i vowed to return back to its original state before mother gets home.
You are the superglue sticking to my fingers making this messier than it should be.
You are that small shard of glass i stepped on after i thought i picked up everything.
You are my constant reminder to breathe.
You are my constant reminder of battle.
You we my constant reminder of time.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
On the first day I learned how to spell my name,
‘h’ included,
Daddy knocked on my bedroom door and let himself in—
I was six
when he planted the evil seed inside of me.
It’s been growing ever since.
Mommy told me to go to sleep with the Bible
under my pillow,
dabbing at her swollen face, pink paisley hanky in hand.
Uncomfortable
(the Bible-pillow, that is; after a while I couldn’t care less
about Mommy’s bleeding nose).
She said Jesus listened to everyone’s sorrows,
children’s first,
that there was no need to tell anyone— He could read thoughts.
Impressive,
I thought, for a guy who’d been through a helluva lot himself,
being crucified and all that.
Daddy told Mommy not to make up ******** fairytales,*
that there’s no way
Jesus remained on the cross for as long as he did,
Pah! he said,
*they didn’t have superglue in those days, you dumb *****
Mommy said Yes-Yes, and shut her trap.
Mommy traded in her sanity for the bottle
Daddy fed her.
I stole Daddy’s shotgun and walked over to the Owens’,
where I threatened
to shoot little Jason, then aged five, if he didn’t lick me
up and down in front of his mother.
I’ve come a long way, and rumor has it there’s a price
on my little head,
that they had found Daddy’s ***** bones in the well
twelve years to the day—
but I’ve come to realize that this heart was made to ****
I’ll polish my shotgun and wait.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 2:27 AM UTC
What little flesh I was
is now yours
it melted
into a muddled heap
on the floor
when you unwrapped me
in your arms
and threw me
bones and all
things I will hold
dear as a lost heart
forever
I pick the pieces up
when you've left
but they fit together
differently now
my ribs a cage
tightly strung together
my legs knock knock
a bit wobbly
my heart alone
pushes the emptiness
around and around
needing you
to pull me up
undo me
and hold me
all in the together
I don't feel so naked
any more
beneath my clothes
with only bare bones
to keep to myself
a beta heart beset with bugs
too erratic and hungry
to release
and the tingles I get
running down my spine
from the superglue
when we hug
squeeze squeeze
and I feel in my bones
your own
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC