when my heart is hurting

My heart is hurting today. 

It hurt yesterday too.

but it hurts for a person

whose no longer you.

the person I loved,

the heart that I had,

aren’t the same anymore

they’re just things of the past.

// Not Lost // 

 


 

she told me to write it on paper

so I could maybe find the words

to say what I was thinking and feeling at that moment in time

 

but the thing was,

whether those words were said or written,

it didn’t matter.

I’d told you once,

I’d told you before, once too.

my words meant absolutely nothing to you.

 

you didn’t care the day I told you,

and you won’t care tomorrow.

your time is something

that can never be borrowed

 

then,

now,

there is no difference.

you hit me where it hurt,

you really let me go

you showed me you never loved me

how couldn’t I have known?

 

I don’t know what I did

or what you think I did

to make you do that

 

but now that you did,

there’s no turning back.

 

//my mistake// 


her?

of all people.

“her?”

I ask.

 

“it isn’t serious,”

you say.

“it’s nothing.”

Then why is it that we’re talking about something?

 

it seems that we talk about nothing a lot,

it seems that you forgot what nothing is not.

 

of all the nothings there are,

why her?

why now?

 

losing your something,

made you go back to “nothing”

; that in reality was never nothing at all,

just a something you called nothing

to keep in your pocket.

 

it’s too bad that the one who stood holding your alternate hand,

never knew the secret you held in the other;

that, that something she is,

is just one of the others.

 

I hope you learn to distinguish nothing from not,

because I sure as hell

am not something to be forgot.

 

“something” I am

in fact,

I am “something” you lost.

 

now your pockets are empty

there really is nothing

I hope it was worth it,

you won.

you lost your something.

 

// something or nothing //


 

when people used to say that their heart hurt,

I never believed it was literal.

it was until mine broke inside of me,

but kept beating

that I could see that living

was now much different

 

in every literal sense,

a heart can hurt

like a disease

it isn’t like a broken bone,

there’s no timeline of when it’ll heal

it’s all dependent on how you make yourself feel

 

I wonder how many times a heart can break until it becomes broken

how many pieces are there to break

and why did no one find out the number?

 

Maybe if someone would’ve told me,

I would’ve protected mine a little bit longer.

Given it a break every time or two;

like some time off,

instead of more with you.

 

maybe if I would’ve known how many more times my heart could break

I would’ve considered how much was at stake.

 

it takes 364 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop,

how many breaks can my heart take

until its had enough?

 

1?

2?

10?

12?

 

Hell, what happens when I’ve had more than enough?

I wish someone would have told me

how many times my heart could break

but I guess it wouldn’t even matter

when all that’s left is faith

 

so really the question is how much faith can be lost

until I throw in the towel,

and love is the cost?

 

// what faith? // 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

on walking away

And he watched her walk away in utter astonishment. He’d never seen someone walk away from him with such ease before.

She walked with her head up high, little did he know, refusing to look back. It looked so easy for her, as if he had never mattered at all.

He sat with his back slouched to the bench, thinking. Thinking of what he had just done, of who she was, and of who she would be. Thinking that he’d probably never know.

The more he thought, the further away she seemed to be. She walked step by step until she was only a distant memory in his mind. And he was right. She was.

She wouldn’t look back, ever. Not even for a second.

The moment she chose to do that, she knew she had the power to choose anything.

And with knowing that, she chose to keep walking.

Far away from the restrictions life held for her, far away from the things that tied her down to one place at a time.

She chose to do the things he always told her she couldn’t.

With the knowledge of knowing she could, she did.

She dyed her hair the way she had wanted to.  She went to that bar across the street, the one HE hated. She ate pizza for breakfast. She wrote what she thought was important. And the thing she loved the most was, she didn’t care.

She was happy.

And she made a choice to keep walking away whenever she wasn’t.