To the love that lives inside my heart,
you chose a terrible home.
Tell me, did you know about the faulty foundation
before you arrived?
Did you know that I am ¼th part
tall cathedral;
that some days I will love like stain-glass mosaic
windows, all of my secrets lined up in reds and yellows and
blues so beautiful
you don’t even notice that the glass is dirty.
Other days I will love like equal parts abandoned asylum
and stuttering apology.
Trembling hands and closing doors of a hospital room
heart that is best known for its wrongful deaths and its
letting go, and how I practice on the ones I love most.
With every fading footstep, I have learned
to swallow more easily. To run over the names written on my
lips like smeared lipstick to
fingertips. I wonder what it must feel like
to love a woman with a padlock ribcage.
To the love that lives inside my heart,
I’m sorry.
I can only hope that one day you will sprout veins,
vessels carrying the fear that was born inside my body
long before you came into the picture,
I can only hope that one day you pull it taunt from one edge
of my body to the other, like thinning,
hungry ocean wave, tugging at the shore of me.
Spread so thin that it finally breaks.
To the love that lives inside my heart,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that you have to feel the weight of me. The
rough of me. Feel the
saltwater on sharp tongue and try to make something beautiful
out of the blood on your hands.
Forgive me.
I am still learning how acceptance is done
right. That a flicker of love will not always spark into the
belly of a beast but emerge from catastrophe,
the birth of cataclysmic circumstance. Cosmic
explosion inside empty, birdcage hands.
Sometimes the arrival of an unexpected guest is exactly
what it takes to remind you that the sacrifice of letting go
is sometimes necessary to be able to feel the
explosion of stars inside
your palms and not get burned.
To the love that lives inside my heart,
You are more than welcome to stay here.
izzy806
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