My heart has been shattered into a thousand pieces and scattered.
Sticking to the bottom of the worn-out converse, that led me out past my curfew.
Dancing with the melody of an old lullaby.
Swept away in the breeze from the limited lustful lovers that only lingered for a moment…
Stuck to the floor where I lie for days, when I forgot how to breathe anything other than his name.
Dripping down my bedroom walls nights when lying next to him was the biggest lie of intimacy. Fallacy. I never felt more isolated than in the arms of a lover.
A few pieces hung by the tattered thread of a beloved shirt that once belonged to my mother… the colors have faded together just like the memories of her.
The wounds will heal into tiny scars and their stories with them. Injuries long forgotten with the journey to level out into some sad excuse for
…I found a few more pieces in a box of crayons. 8 solid colors never felt more limitless when you are young enough to feel safe in your dreams.
When it is still separate from reality.
Where nothing can hurt you.
A few more pieces escape out of the window in a cloud of heavy, dank burnt herb.
Mamy, many more pieces lie in the countless beds, avoiding dripping sweat, mimicking moaning and counting ceiling tiles on my back.
Some were thrown out in bottles of bourbon.
…Some came back up after said bourbon… Off the Queensboro bridge as the cab driver cringed.
Some got lost in the Facebook newsfeed. Fighting the constant updates and climbing the social media ladder towards relevancy.
Some hid in the shadows of a selfie.
Others found themselves bouncing on the nooks and crannies of cellulite. On my thighs, my ass, my stomach. The years of demotivation had atrophied my muscles and added self loathing to my once tight frame. My disappointments jiggled with every step.
Still, one large piece clung on, as we lie back to back, silent. Angry. Hurt. She whispered scornful reminders of all the mistakes I had made. The ways I self sabotage, the patterns I am doomed to repeat.
She tore at my chest and clanged against my sternum, begging for validation. I tried to mend the many wrongs and fix the pieces, but just like now; my words betrayed me, and the single piece, all that was left, gripping to my ribcage like a desperate hiker clinging to a cliff…
…began to crumble against the bolder of my regret. Resentment. Anger.
My containment of truth.