Broken Things To Throw Away

Last night, a lot of things were revealed to me, and I wanted to tell him to f**k off, but I couldn't

I’m watching you with very tired
and sad eyes as you sweep up
what we broke between us.
The pieces of anger, sadness
realizations reflect in mirror
shards, staring at us in an almost
accusatory tone.

I didn’t ask for you
to clean me up. I don’t
need you to pick up
my broken shards that
will cut your feet…
But there you are, sweeping
and I can’t be okay with
this. This is a ride I’m quite
familiar with, and you say
you know…

But I don’t know if you know
where my heart lives.
I tell you, I give you bread crumbs
to guide you to the locked door
and yes, look under the mat,
you’ll find what you’re looking
for

If you’re still looking through
the shards of hurt and tears
it’s only going to hurt all over
again, and I wouldn’t recommend
such a thing to do.

I want to be worth it
You are to me, and that’s
quite a feat, cause here lately
I don’t really feel like giving
anything. With your freckled
smiles and words that dot
along my lips, you pull me
back in, with a flick of a finger
I’m there.

Reviews

[Narnie]

Classic Amber and there is no turning away from it. You have a unique and mesmorising voice in your poems. (((((((hello you))))))

[Lola Nation]

only a flick of the finger; not even a snap!

[Alessander]

K AngelHead, U know I adore ur work, so take all this with an experimental spirit (as lately I've been in an experimental mode, and this critique is too experimental). Here's a possible alternate that I would like to see create.

I’m watching you with very tired
and sad eyes as you sweep up
what we broke between us.

[Add an image here]

The pieces of anger, sadness
realizations reflect in mirror
shards, staring at us in an almost
accusatory tone.

I didn’t ask for you
to clean me up. I don’t
need you to pick up
my broken shards that
will cut your feet…

[add an image here. Maybe continue the "shards" - jagged, lacerating into the callused soles and tender toes...you get the idea]

But there you are, sweeping
and I can’t be okay with
this. This is a ride I’m quite
familiar with, and you say
you know…


But I don’t know if you know
where my heart lives.
I tell you, I give you bread crumbs
to guide you to the locked door
and yes, look under the mat,
you’ll find what you’re looking
for


If you’re still looking through
the shards of hurt and tears

[Shards seem to be your "controlling metaphor" but maybe risk another metaphor, simile, here?]

it’s only going to hurt all over
again, and I wouldn’t recommend
such a thing to do.


I want to be worth it
You are to me, and that’s
quite a feat, cause here lately
I don’t really feel like giving
anything. With your freckled
smiles and words that dot
along my lips, you pull me
back in, with a flick of a finger

I’m there.

As per your usual, the work is very confessional, raw and tormented - you always do a good job of creating an almost uncomfortable intimacy and claustrophobic atmosphere. Your "characters" remind me of Ophelia or a Mozart feminine archetype that forgives the brute animal that is man.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

You have a way of brining the reader in emotionally so we can feel everything, in this case emotional confusion... we know loved ones try to comfort us by trying to say they understand cause we do it ourselves... sometimes we need to work things out on our own in order to gain insight and grow emotionally.

[Tommy]

You always write with great description. I find myself lost in the pictures created from one scene to the next, and then you bring them together with such a quality of direction. I never seem to be distracted from your style, but rather more captivated to read on, and I'm never disappointed.

Great Write!
RLG,
Tommy