Fallowed Heart

the rock hard
the rock hard
my heart

your words
sharp and true
your words
a seed meant for me
a seed that would be planted
a seed that wants to grow
a seed that is bursting
with the essence of
and all the ever afters
I have ever ever
hoped for

that seed
on the rock hard

how can I till my
rock hard

how can I break this
fallowed ground
gone bad?

what does it take to soften
this rock hard?

how can I rain on it?
how can I till a stone?
must I work at it alone?

your words
your beautiful sharp true words
genuine golden
lay strewn upon
the rock hard

I must hurry
I must hurry so
your words don’t waste away

I want your love to grow
like a tree
but this is no ground for growing
this is no ground for a living thing
this is the rock hard place
this is the rock hard
my heart

Flowers can’t be Broken

Ah, your beautiful words have all wilted, sir. Like a handful of flowers, they began to die the moment you gave them to me. If your face were the sun, you turned it away. And if your heart, the earth, you tore them out by the roots. Your words became promises that never had the strength to break.

Here where I live, I can see that the sun still shines on the hills in bloom. And I realize that I prefer flowers that grow.

Thin As They Are

thin is the paper that holds these words about love
and thinner still that strains under the heavier words of trust
this paper almost transparent
a veil
actions and in-actions shine right through
and I can see
how the ink bleeds

on the back
one blot
a bird
some stranger
a crow
a taker

this can’t be you
these words could not
bleed out this

I look to the window
a soft breeze is blowing
there is the sweet smell of rain
and something

a wind might come
sweet and soft
and blow
these papers away
they would lift up so easily
thin as they are

and I will let them

Heart on a Platter

she stares at the blank page
hoping that she won’t fall in
not again
not again

last time she came this way
it was better
there were words on the page but

now there are no words
no words at all
there’s nothing here to show where she’ll end up
so she
can’t fall in
can’t go down
can’t step out
into that
blank world

where have all the words gone?

it changed
it changed
it changed
he pulled the world out from
under me and it changed

there’s a plate on my heart
staring out like a headlight
like one beam of light
out into the darkness
this white plate
there is nothing on it

there is nothing on it
but reflection

the moon stole my heart away
but I got it back
when the words fell off the page
and the world fell away
I took it back off that platter
and now
I see the words again
all the new words

and there is nowhere to fall
I only thought there was

All the words…

I’m thinking of all the words. The ones I want to say. And then I remember… maybe I already said them. To that person I thought was you. In that moment I thought was this moment. And then I don’t want to say them. I don’t want to say them again.

My fool eyes, my damned tongue, my Judas hands that wrote those words… to those inconsequential impersonators, wolves in soft clothing. Those thieves of golden moments, turned criminal by those fucking traitorous words. Those words, like black glue they permanently adhered to the pages they were scratched out on, and the ears, and the hearts that mistook them from me, those hearts and ears, those thieving eyes that held me. Laying in wait, they ambushed me with trust and robbed me of that rarest of moments, that first moment, that first time, that first word, shared. And heard. And gone now.

I’m throwing all of my words away. They are garbage and trash and I’m burning down the house they have lived in. I want to walk through the ashes of my history of words. I would be silent for years if I thought I could wipe the slate clean. I have kept away from the wolves, the ones that feign connection and promise and paint futures that I’m able to consider long enough to wrench my words from me. Your words, the words I meant for you. But though I have kept away these years, the words have still been spent. And they are not renewed. They are banished the moment they fell from my lips. Banished to a lost place that I do not know. Carried away with the men that took them to heart.

I find myself hoping that my words have in part or at least fallen on deaf ears but might have landed squarely on your heart. And every time another woman pretended that she could love you like I already do, and every time she promised that she would, her words fell like worthless currency on the table and you had no use for it. And there it remains, on the wood you never bothered to knock on.

My tongue, no virgin. No pure and sweet and new words are left. Those have all passed this way before, tied to balloons, lofty with hope, or blooming like fucking daisies. All the words I’ve said before are ringing in my ears. The thoughts and dreams and all the things I said I wanted to do.

And now all I want to do is find new words for you.