We have to be broken.

If not

how would

our authentic selves

escape

the thick impenetrable

shell our ego builds around us

as protection

a hiding place

where no one can see

who we really are

lest they reject us?

It is in the breaking

that we are released

from the falsehood

that the opinions of others matter

so we can go on

and live

the lives we were born to.

You know that state of feeling broken?

Breathing and living but something seems wrong and you're not exactly sure what?

Thinking you should probably ask for help but you're not sure there's a person on Earth who can understand or know how to assist?

Not wanting to worry others...?

or bother them...?

or burden them...?

You're too empathetic, perhaps.

Feeling feelings when you'd rather not?

Too weak to ignore the voices?

The pulling?

The heart aching?

Muttering 'Help me' to God every other second of the day?

You want to be okay...

You just want to be okay...

So you smile.

You stay kind.

You keep worries in the back of your mind.

But they try to escape.

And, eventually, they do get out, don't they?

They hack their way straight through your heart, leaving you

...broken...

But you don't want to be broken, do you?

You're thankful for God's blessings big and small, right?

You know that, in the end, it will all work out.

It'll all be good.

So you keep going?

Keep pushing?

Keep helping?

Keep loving?

Keep growing?

Keep floating?

Keep holding together on the outside though, on the inside, you're broken?

No?

Oh.

...maybe it's just me.

:)

Sprawled on the hardwood floor,

A worn out soul —

Splintering with regret —

Cannot rest.

Its stone cold heart,

Cracked beyond repair,

Wears a spackled mask —

That slips.

Hiding an empty shattered shell.

Four deaths in five years, that broke me.

Never dealing with death until twenty-six, i thought I was lucky.

From suicide, to addiction, a sickness, followed by an unexpected o.d.

I wish my father in law knew how much we loved him, his loss dropped my husband to his knees.

I know my best friend loved me more than heroin, but it drowned her in it’s forever sea.

My Gram was my world, she loved me & showered me with belief, i would have given my lungs to help her breathe.

My mom passing took all of me, she wasn’t a junkie but the dr gave too many prescriptions that took her eternally.

I’m left without the most important people, daily my eyes are teary.

My son has that sparkle in his eye like my father-in-law had unknowingly.

After a day full of drama, I can’t call my best friend, those wretched drugs stole her away.

I know my Gram watches over me, but I need her here to help clear my mind‘s disarray.

Loosing my Mom shattered my daughters heart, it’s not hard to see those blue eyes filled with dismay

Please God or whoever you are, take it easy on us, we’re all trying to grieve in this family.

Each day I act strong since I’m the Mother, I can’t show my children that my heart beats with agony.

I try to be a good person in this life, are these losses punishment for who I was in my past life, is that the reason for these daggers within me?

I heard it the first time in Lilo & Stitch, and boy, did it resonate. It's become a bit of a family slogan. My mama used to say it to me.

She cupped my cheek on my fourteenth birthday and wiped away a tear, "Oh daughter... we are broken, but we're still good."

"Mom. I don't know what to do. My brothers hate me." I sobbed.

"No, they don't-- they'll come around. I am so proud of you. I am so sorry. I had no idea what your dad was doing. Thank you for telling the truth." Her voice weakens with every word. She's barely audible by the end of it, and by the slump of her shoulders I can see the burden she carries. I can see the bruises left by large, veined hands- hands I used to cling to in the grocery store.

"Why don't they see it like I do, mom?"

She sighs a world weary sigh, "because... they are not women... they are worth something to him." She meets my eyes. She's just called me a woman, and we both know it's true. I stopped being a child years ago. "C'mon, hon. Let's do something fun today-- it's your birthday. Let's get through this. Together. We will get you away from him. We will get you all away from him-- just one more visit."

I steady myself and wipe the tears with the back of my hand, "Okay. Just one more visit." I put on my wistful smile and squeeze her hand, "what on earth are we doing moping? It's my birthday!" She smiles at my false happiness and pats my cheek once more.

"Yes. Broken, but still good."

We rise, pull strength round our shoulders in invisible robes, and paste on the cheer with a glue of perseverance.

I endured with a smile. I made it. We got me away from him.

And I thought that perhaps I might heal someday. I thought there might be a time I was no longer broken-- that the cracks might stop showing, but now I know...

I will always be broken, but

Still Good.

A silent conversation screaming to be heard.

A gesture of warmth

but not a word.

I love you, but I don't

Floats through the air.

Never touch me again is performed in a stare.

Whatever Angel that put you two together before...

Has broken wings and

is now laying on the floor.

It is complicated to talk about such things, for you always have the sensation that you are following cliches, and you usually do. I believe we suffer because we have some thinking patterns which we use to adjust and make sense out of the reality, and we suffer when they do not serve their purpose very well and lack exactitude.

Our ego is also a construction, as weird as that sounds, and it takes a lot of awareness not to let it control you and cause distress, which sounds more easy than it is. Yet I am convinced that whenever we experience deep suffering, we have to turn our attention within again and find the answer, and also view it as a symptom that our life needs some balance and some changes, and that it is overall beneficial but not bad.

I break myself.

I've lived lifetimes, grown to love people and places and finally I've found a purpose... but then the light dims and the pages won't let me in, and I'm alone again.

I kill my darlings in an unceasing search for perfection, all the while knowing that perfection is in itself an imperfect construction born of capitalism and clockwork machinery. I beat my brain bloody over the things I don't want to do, stop myself from doing what I dream of, because if I'm not being productive then I'm worth nothing but... if I'm not happy now, when will I get to start?

I break myself to fit in, to stand out, to cram myself into molds that were never built to accommodate the human body and to tear them open when they don't feel right. I pick through the shards of myself as my hands start to bleed. I'm looking for something, anything, but all I can find are pieces of my own distorted reflection.

Maybe we're all just three-dimensional mosaics, shattered pieces hanging suspended and glittering in the void. Maybe we fit together, not edge-to-scraping-edge but with a small abyss between us. Are we even built to swirl slowly in constellations, gleaming in the light of our neighbors, outermost layers of raw edges glinting protectively? Is this the only way to survive the collisions, the abrupt transition between self-absorption and outright war? Is this even living?

I am recursive destruction, looping back onto myself. I break myself so I don't break others.

What would happen if I just... let go?

Instead,

I break myself.

I have been broken

In so many ways

But this time

I’m shattered down

to the core

I think I must go

No way I could stay

And yet I am frozen

Behind this locked door

I know I can’t take this

I would if I could

I’m tired and this abyss

Has fucked me up good

How could this happen now

As I wither away

My life is now trapped somehow

Not much left to decay

Pound by pound

My body has been failing

And what I have found

The ship of death

Is sailing

I could of gone content

But you turned on our own son

And now when my

Life ends

He’ll be left with no one

You know I had accepted

This to be my creeping fate

But this was unexpected

And thanks to you

It’s all too late

I now know how it feels

To be broken all the way

And nowhere to reveal

A safe place for my kid to stay

This isn’t just me broken

I am shattered and defeated

And this can’t go unspoken

To ghost a child

When you are needed

I struggle everyday

And each one could be my last

I wish that I could stay

But I fear it’s coming fast

I try to hold on

As broken pieces slowly rot

I hope to stay strong

And find my son a worthy spot

Daniel J Dabney

And my fucked up mind

When I see you, I see broken.

I see a boy whose heart is torn

between what he has;

and what he had, but lost,

all those months ago.

Does it hurt you to think

about everything we had?

Do you fall asleep at night

wishing you had me back?

I want you to know-

I feel it too. I don't want us back,

but I wish we didn't have to end it.

You were the only person I ever

wanted a future with. I saw myself

growing old with you, picking out

baby names together, planning a wedding,

and moving away from this small town.

Maybe that's how you know you've lived,

and loved- you have to feel that the future you imagined

is gone- even though you never had it.

If love is what broke us,

then maybe love is broken.