Tired of living my life thinking that two parts should make a whole, when mine were both broken
Thumbtacks and bobby pins under hot glue that almost glistens,
careful not to burn with each touch of my lonely skin..
but she was always here for me
between the pages of the fog
lungs filled by the smog of it all,
her pretty smile pulled away from me as she held gaze with my reflective deprecate eyes
I've never been too fond of surprises..
when each day is a new level of to-dos and disguises
but through it all she'd still hold my hand
her imperfections seemingly nonexistent when standing next to the box of tissues
those imperfections cradled by a warm and worried smile
face down pretending to inspect the old tile
I could always laugh and fake a smile
drag my heart an extra mile
the words clawing at my neck as the bile rises
it rises
it rises
Jesus Christ it's getting a little tight in this room that I'm in
It's getting a little quiet in mind, every compliment accepted at the same time they are dismissed
It's getting a little frustrating to see that things I thought,
things I dreamed of,
all went to waste
it's getting a little hard to reach for the things I've always chased
stuck like paste
I can't taste
the sweet fruitfulness of tomorrows
but I'm still here
even if in little happy pieces
my two little happy broken pieces
I'm still here
sitting in the dark
across the street and under the slide at the elementary school park
holding myself together like the big girl I was
waiting for you to come home
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me
Poetry"I have written you down, you will live forever." ~ A poet from Bastille . . . . . . . . Excerpts of a busy bee 🐝 [i write purposely without capitalization, and am not worried much about having ideal structure. i am a happy potato, please...
