Fragile: Handle With Care



I’m tongue and cheek,
And you wear a broken heart on your sleeve;
Neither of us has mastered the art
Of just saying what we really mean.

You’re always running,
And I’m terrified to even move.
I’m content with quiet humming.
You belt it out with something to prove.

You seem at home in the crowded room,
And I feel like an abandoned guitar: out of tune.
The red and white cup in your hand
Fills holes in your heart until you can barely stand.

You dance in the street to the traffic song.
I stay on the sidewalk waiting for the cars to be gone.
You flirt and wave at not so handsome strangers.
Hand on your arm, I soberly safeguard you from danger.

I’m the keeper of the keys,
Who will stand by you judgment-free.
You attempt a call to tell him you don’t feel so alone,
But I swiftly steal away that old, beat up phone.

I’m the holder of the hair, as you stare down white porcelain.
I rub your back and help wipe your mouth.
Is this what our friendship is all about?
Honestly, I don’t know,
But I’ll always be there for you when it counts.
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Submitted on May 01, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:00 min read
9

Quick analysis:

Scheme XXXX ABAB XXCC XXXX XXDD XXXXX
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 1,031
Words 202
Stanzas 6
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5

Rachel

I can't write about myself in third person, so let's make this an autobiography.I'm Rachel. I'm a nineteen year old college student. And, well, I'm pretty boring. I'm awkward, and I'm selfish. I'm both too serious and too whimsical. I'm hundreds of conflicts contained in a girl. I've only had one real love and I've been head over heels since I was fourteen (He's too stubborn to leave). Most things I write have a little of him between the lines. I'm trying to find my way through growing up and constantly fighting my instincts to pack up and runaway. I think too much and terrify myself. Life scares me and sometimes I forget to live. Insomnia and feeling lost led me here (it also led me to start blogging: http://growinguplostgirl.blogspot.com/)I'm here to grow so please critique anything and everything I post. The structure of my poems would probably give my old high school English teachers a heart attack. My punctuation, or lack there of, probably wouldn't make them feel any better. I get that people are very protective of their creations, but you can tear mine to shreds, as long as you respect the emotions behind them. Harsh criticism wont make me sob into a pillow, promise. more…

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1 Comment
  • B.mathislange
    Your good just let it flow read it several times. I know you got it Sincerely Miss Barb
    LikeReply7 months ago

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