POETRY: Pockets Filled With Love

POETRY: Pockets Filled With Love

Too many broken pieces.

The repairman is here…

Problem is I can’t remember where I hid them.

Did I bury it beneath my river of tears?

Or did I let the wind of change blow it all away?

Did I use it to make a collage?

Or did I use the pieces to cut myself open?


Too many broken pieces.

Too many dots begging to be connected when I close my eyes.

Problem is I’ve got no lines.

Did I use them to build boundaries?

Or did I use them to construct my box?

I’ll never shake your hand!


I’ll always hide my bleeding hands in my pocket.


Too many pieces of advice.

All intended to keep me safe.

Problem is I never take them seriously.

I’ll never remove my hands from my pockets!

Was it not you who built my hopes like a tower?

Did you not push me?

Or did I just slip off the top?

Did I not beg you to pull me up as I fell into oblivion?


Too many broken pieces

The repairman is here

Even though I know he has seen my kind

I still hide because I am scared

That I am one of the few who didn’t call for help

I embraced the pain and turned it into something beautiful.


So when I stop beating around the bush

When he tells me to stop these mind games

When I finally tell him it’s been in my pocket all along

That the reason I refused a handshake

was because I didn’t want him to see my fresh cuts

Would he forgive my stalling and mend me?

Or would he hate me for playing games with him?

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