Things can't always be fixed (and can't always be broken)

Broken skin 
on the knee
of me, aged three
is something that a plaster
could cover and soothe

A broken bone
in the leg
of you, who knew
it was something that plaster
could cover and soothe

A broken tyre
on that car, 
of ours, a mar
that could be replaced
and covered and soothed

But a broken heart
and no joy
from a boy, whose toy
was you, where no words
could fix and soothe the pain 

And broken skin
from the mess
you're in, and over the din
of the voices in your head, 
nothing can fix and soothe you

And a broken home,
from the shouts
and the rage that's at a stage
where it won't go away, 
can't be fixed and soothed

Sometimes life isn't as simple
as a graze from the floor
or a clean break
or a bump on a journey 

Sometimes life is painful
and broken
and the wounds and the thoughts and the mess and the noise and the agony 
can't be fixed in a day or a week or a month or a year
but that's okay, and you're okay
because a soul isn't something that can be broken, 
completely

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