I was once a beautiful statue
standing in a square
and people would come
from all over the world and
offer me their broken hearts.
I would take a little handful of
the cool clay that made my being
and I would fill in the cracks
to make those embattled hearts
stronger then ever.
More and more people made a
pilgrimage to see me and soon
I had to take plaster from my
arms and legs and body until
there was no material left for me.
It seemed that everybody knew
where to find me when they
needed a little extra help but
when they were fixed they forgot
to return and repay the kindness.
Please remember that those
who allow you to lean on them
sometimes need help too
but they will keep on giving clay
until it runs out.
Do not let them become
an empty platform in a square
where a beautiful statue
used to reside.
I told you that if
you were to die before me
I would become a
lighthouse operator on
some desolate shore
with my typewriter
tapping out novels and
poetry while a
tugboat delivered my
food and letters
twice a week.
You replied that it was
just like me to
romanticize the fear
that grips my heart
and to be plotting
my escape already
but that I would not
survive with such an
absence of attention.
I do not think you
understand how much
I like you or
how little I like people
who aren’t you.
Your skin against mine
as we lie together in bed
warm and plainly sweet
like the rising, baking bread.
I am thankful to realize a
happy moment whilst still in it
and lounge in the luxury
purely content for a minute.
Although I want to savour this
and try my very best
my eyelids find each other
at the daylight’s hasty recess.
Sleep pulls me from the moment
the gentle breathing of my lung
how lucky I am to fall asleep with
the taste of fresh bread on my tongue.
Some people think the most important
thing to say and mean is
I love you
but I think something that conveys
so much more is
I’ll be there.
I’ll be there when the dark skies roll in
both in the happiness of evening and
for the tremors that grip you
in the late night hours.
I’ll be there when I love you beyond comprehension
and even when I do not like you very much.
I’ll be there when you’re on top of the world
and by your side when you hit rock bottom.
In celebration or in misery
you will never have to be alone again.
You could tell that she used to be water.
It was in the way that she moved or
laughed and you knew without a doubt
that in another life not so long ago
she used to be the waves in the ocean
or at the very least the perfect orbs
of dew on blooming dahlias in the
gentle hazy glow of the rising sun.
You knew it in the way that everyone
would change and grow in her presence
that she was used to being part of a cycle-
of something bigger and grander than
anyone could give her here and it
was not hard to tell how much she
loved you but it was only a matter of time
before she was needed somewhere else more.
She was fluid and she was free.
If you want to be happy
please stay away from me
at all costs.
Do not put your heart in
my hands because I have
never learned to be gentle.
Both in the way that I love
and in the way that I leave
I always end up breaking something.
Tell them that you
love their idiosyncrasies
before it is too late
because the ones with
the heaviest regrets
are not the ones who
spoke their love and lost
but those who failed to
set their words to flight
and must wonder forever
if they could have flown.
Let us remember to
Open our hearts to the
Very thing that can defeat
Evil in any incarnation.
The only way that I can describe
a woman like her is to say
that she reminded me of a
ballerina dancing in a minefield
her performance was a manipulation.
I watch her slip into her pointe shoes
(not comfortable but they accentuate
her legs to a particular advantage)
and she wipes make up across her face
until she is perfectly in character.
She dances without looking at her feet
her chin up and every movement is specific
solely executed to get something that she wants
and most of the time she does not realize
how close she is to detonating the mines.
I wonder if it is all worth it;
the practice and commitment to her character
when I know she could find actual love without
having to create a façade she thinks the
audience wants instead.
I watch from balcony seats and the spotlight
focuses on her as she leaps and she spins
and the ticketholders in their finery lean forward-
gasping as the ballerina loses track of steps and music
we know that the finale is always an explosion.
(image courtesy of https://capstonerealty.wordpress.com)