Art

the way you chew at my heart

spit it out

wipe your mouth

you make it look like art

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“in a dream you give me a spare key & change the locks right after” – onlywreckage

I forgive you. yes (and me too. I forgive myself too, most importantly. I guess) especially for those few times I hung my heart on a tree and waited all night for the sound of your heart beating, or better yet I waited, I sat and drew your laugh on my palms. I waited.

but I forgive you (and me. I hope). I forgive us because I tied the strings of my heart around your name and they were held together by your smile. So brief. I felt like dying and living while crying.

I am at this bus stop of healing. the conundrum is that I haven’t allowed the hurt to hurt. and you know what they say about pain..it demands to be felt. oh boy – it’s banging my door down

the truth is, I shouldn’t have to forgive you. you are not the one that made me read a story. it’s only that towards the end – all it felt like was that the rain kept coming down and there is never any way to stop it. and when it did- all that happened was I tried to keep us warm, I put up umbrellas and built a home. I even asked the rain to fall upwards and all you cared about was that the sun was still shining on your window but not mine, and you refused to let me in and I had to come up for air every now and then…because I’ve never been a ship that sinks, except maybe in my own tears – but never in a space of 47 days.

I shouldn’t have to forgive you because you managed to find your way in – it never really was your fault that I wasn’t doing anything with my heart anyway. and here I am, an orphaned & abandoned heart. you walk in sometimes, look around, dust off some dirt from your clothes and walk out like this was never home – come on, 47 days is a long time. you cannot tell me you do not remember. there’s planets revolving around your smile, your touch and your eyes in my chest.

I am trying to say the goodbye you’re not aware you have painted already but I would lay all my poems at your feet. it hurts everywhere- I’m sorry so about love

Hiccups of Innocence

You have to be able to write some people out of your mouth the same way they walk out of your life.

With little respect if not none. In total silence and not a second beat.

You have to do it with so much grace they are left with hiccups of your innocence.

Red: Part 3

Lent. A time where Christians give up a habit for 40 days.

Yet. Here I am. Commiting to writing you a poem a day.

This is the only way I know how to love you. I am so glad you’re not religion.