you can’t expect to fall in love
with anybody when you don’t
have a heart to give away.
you can hold the hands of
strangers and even kiss them in
the dark but if you don’t have a heart
to give away, what’s the use?
you are not anybody’s
exception and you shouldn’t
wait for the boy with blue
eyes and a rollercoaster
you shouldn’t wait for boys
with words as sweet as honey,
clinging to your lips when they
have actions of ice and a crumbling
heart of charcoal.
you call when it’s dark, asking
where I’ve been and telling me
how you love the colour of my eyes.
you ask about my elbows and if they
have bruises and comment on how
much you miss my smile.
I cannot help but let you make the
butterflies flutter and my hands shake
at your name and your voice.
it’s two am, it’s raining and you’re
telling me your day is emptier without
me, how you realised you need me.
and all I have is broken butterflies
frantically searching for a way out,
a way to survive without your words.
i have been conditioning myself
to forget you;
every morning in the shower,
i remember the ways you left me
and how your words were like ice
sometimes, how your hands stopped
showing me where you loved me.
i don’t think of our babies eyes,
just how you refused to love her
before you even knew her smile.
i’m replacing our memories with
lists of how you hurt me and one
day darling, you’ll barely exist in
my fragile heart at all.
we could have tried harder.
we could’ve fought the distance that
was building, you could’ve used words
and i could’ve smiled more
but in the end, we weren’t prepared
for the battle, we didn’t arm our hearts,
and i don’t know what we were expecting.
but i wasn’t expecting you
to walk out, without me, without
a goodbye nor a whisper.
in the end, we decided that
we weren’t worth fighting for,
but i must’ve have missed that defeat
because i thought we were winning.
I think I shall take a lover,
with flushed cheeks and wise
eyes. he will have a silent laugh
that you can feel through his
he will ask about my day but he’ll
care more about my week or month
because that is the bigger picture.
I think I shall take a boy that is loving
and enjoys tea shops and walking on
the beach even when it’s stormy.
i cannot stay where you did not,
goodnight boy of steel and ore.
i cannot leave to find a place without
you, if you keep coming back.
my body isn’t a haven; it should be a temple
or a pyramid or at least made of brick and
mortar, like a house built to last centuries.
my heart is like paper, it cannot stretch or
heal itself, instead it crumples and becomes
stagnant with tears and endless sighs.
my mind is a war zone, just when you think
that you’re winning, that you’ve won a simple
battle or struggle; it is defeated, it is lost.
tell me the words to heal the past,
to wash away the multiple times we
fucked up until our hands were raw
and our bones were bleeding.
we’re bleeding. ancient and organic,
frigid and fragile, we’re watering a
love that cannot exist in a meadow
overrun with dying weeds.
my throat is sore from wishing on
stars that you weren’t gone.
where do we go when our bones
are aching and we’ve run out of
places to hide, that aren’t full of
we could lie below weeping
willows, or in a field of poppies.
perhaps crows will even dance at
our feet as we fall asleep.