Mending A Broken Heart

I held his heart in my hands

In pieces shattered, a broken land.

“Can you fix it?” he’d asked

While I stared at the impossible task.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said,

Placing a kiss on his forehead.

I sat and pondered and tried to start

But how best to mend his broken heart?

With needle and thread to keep it together?

Not glue; too weak for changes in weather…

Metal would give it strength,

But time and rust would wear its length.

So I thought and then thought some more

Until the answer came as if called for.

I began putting the pieces back one by one,

Working throughout the daytime sun

And on through the darkening night,

Continuing on despite

The pain in my back and bleeding fingertips,

Making sure there’d be no rips.

Then one day I was done,

And I smiled at the war I’d won.

For when you breathed life into their chests

You knew, for them, you’d never rest.

So when my son’s heart was broken

I listened to the words spoken

From my own, and heeded what they’d said,

Then gave him my whole one instead.

And with the love I’ve never denied

I sewed up the pieces of his then closed it inside

Myself.

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At Sunset

 

I waited for you by our tree

On the hill watching

The sun set lighting the clouds on fire,

One glorious explosion

Before day yields to night

And hides

The tears on my face that fall

When you don’t show,

Or say goodbye.

Less Than Ideal

Image result for broken things

Hold the broken pieces in your hand of the vase you bought,

So perfect, not quite the same as the one you really wanted,

But almost perfect enough that you glue the pieces back

Though it can never hold real flowers in water again.

 

So it holds silk flowers-

silver medal never gold,

Second best never good enough

As the first, the original.

Now it’s flawed forever

Scarred forever marred forever.

 

Can never hold water again.

Can never be whole again.

Can never be perfect again.

Can never be the one you said you wanted.

Can only be hidden, faced to a wall,

Boxed up locked up

Might as well be thrown away

For it’s not worth the effort

To recycle reuse repurpose

The pieces into something

more beautiful than the original.

 

It’s not worth the effort to love it more now

Than when you bought it…

Because it isn’t what you wanted in the first place.

Removing Oneself from the Equation

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Say you never hurt me. Say it again.

Because maybe then, as you say it, it will be true.

Yes, this is how we are now. This is how we’ve always been,

You’ve just ignored your part in the process.

As you said, actions speak louder than words,

and, baby, your actions are a fucking war zone.

Go ahead, say you never hurt me.

The scars on my heart tell a different story.

#OctPoWriMo Day 5: Sharp

scissors

Angry girl,

why do you run with scissors on your tongue?

One fall

and down comes all.

 

Angry girl,

Sharp words enemies make to rake

you over the coals.

Release those goals.

 

Angry girl,

Acid words cut like swords.

Forgive, and let go your pain.

Be cleansed and smile again.

 

Angry girl,

Why do you run with scissors on your tongue?

One fall,

and down comes all.

 

*Really have no idea the inspiration for this one. Thinking about sharp things and sharp words so arguments came to mind and I began writing. Along the way the idea came to me about how whenever we’re angry we say things to wound, or we might walk away and do something dangerous or that can hurt someone or ourselves. I’ve heard people laugh and make jokes about running with scissors but it’s never funny when the thing you least expect actually happens. In fact, it’s sort of breath-taking and shocking, even though you were warned. I titled this one Pointed Words-a little tongue in cheek there.

#OctPoWriMo Day 3: Sparkling

 

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There she is across the pond

Throwing glitter into the air,

Wishing for a breeze to send it your way,

A little of her love drifting to you there.

 

See the smile that spreads o’er her face,

The sparkle that lights up her eyes,

Thoughts of you light her days

And shine in her night-clad skies.

 

#OctPoWriMo Day 3. Who sparkles more than our very own Glitterbomber? She deserves an ode.