Home > poem, poems, Uncategorized, Writing > a band-aid for this bad heart

a band-aid for this bad heart

I don’t want to be gone
but that’s what I am:
an empty coffee mug,
a house full of old silence,
a ghost-filled parking lot,
arms and bones
shaped by the word without.

How did I get here?
This place where there’s too much
blame in my blood, where
I’m sure I’d fly away
if it weren’t for these
bricks of doubt
around these clay feet; now,
even my heart
refuses to beat right, a reminder
of everything’s that matters
more than I do—
sometimes grief echoes,
and the sound is worse
than its origins.

I made this
with my own two hands,
but it’s gone monster
and it intends to swallow
every one of my limbs,
and sometimes (don’t tell)
I consider letting it,
because giving up
seems to be the thing to do—
tell me
how many broken miracles
does it take
to make one that’s whole?

You don’t know
what I’ll do next, and that’s
a problem. You were
what kept me
from burning down
this house, with me
still in it. Now, maybe
I don’t care. Now, maybe
it’s time to stop
swallowing the flame,
to let the new undoing
push out the old, if only
to recognize
everything holy that hurts,
heart like a wafer on a tongue,
I’ve always been
a melting woman.

But in the end, it isn’t shame,
never regret, never wished-it-didn’t-happen,
no, this devil in my heart,
it’s grief. It’s adding up
everything and finding the total short,
it’s not getting to see your face,
it’s a goodbye by proxy,
it’s the flashbacks,
it’s not enough.

These walls, this war,
this want, the cruelty
of losing. You were so much
brawl, so much fight, so much
courage, so much strength.
When did you lose the word
for love? When did you turn
your back on hope? When
do you misplace the power
of forgiving yourself? When
did you sell your fierce
for something dull, something else?

We were so open, once—
tell me how to pretend
it never happened. Offer me
a broken dam
for this willful river,
a band-aid for this bad heart,
one kiss I don’t have to send back,
one moment
that doesn’t corner me
as an accident; be unapologetic.

Advertisements
Categories: poem, poems, Uncategorized, Writing
  1. joshuamneff
    November 27, 2015 at 1:16 pm

    This speaks to me SO MUCH! It’s beautiful and painful. And I particularly love and relate to this stanza:

    I made this
    with my own two hands,
    but it’s gone monster
    and it intends to swallow
    every one of my limbs,
    and sometimes (don’t tell)
    I consider letting it,
    because giving up
    seems to be the thing to do—
    tell me
    how many broken miracles
    does it take
    to make one that’s whole?

    • November 28, 2015 at 9:11 am

      Thank you so much, Josh. I’m really glad that you liked this. Thanks for taking the time to comment. XO

  2. November 28, 2015 at 9:13 am

    Reblogged this on Existentialists R Us.

  3. November 28, 2015 at 9:13 am

    Astonishing

    • November 28, 2015 at 9:16 am

      Thank you, Mike! Much appreciated.

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: