Saturday, 14 July 2018

No hurt hurts more unless
it’s the heart that’s broken
you only wish you were wiser
when the feelings you had have been trampled  
Pain piercing your soul before tears could form
the fights
that you hoped shall end one day
now a mosaic before you.

No one stops caring anymore unless
their loved ones deny them their share of the love they once had
bleeding love and eyes pleading for understanding
it’s not something you ever thought happening
until the cold in their eyes freezes you to the core
and even then you say the words and roll them with your tongue,
under bated breath because you are loving, caring
only saying sorry
crying silent tears with each caress
wishing they gave you their all.

You have to understand,
that no one mends their heart a million times
unless it is for love
no one submits to the devil
unless hell is their heaven
no one sacrifices all their happiness unless it’s for love.
No one opens their heart and risks all
unless it’s love.

No one abandons their family
where everyone loves them
unless they have been struck by Cupid’s poisoned arrow
because a poisoned arrow in the heart is better
than family walls that are so high no one could climb
everyone a cherub flapping their wings in protection
because a romantic embrace
is warmer than that of tens of brothers and sisters.

The outburst:
          “Go away from me
          bitch
          gold-digger
          I’m tired
          I don’t love you any more”
         
sink in so effortlessly
          you ask—
          maybe because the words are milder
          piecing together the heart you shattered.

Or the words are tenderer
than the cold treatment that you give me
or the insults are easier
to take
than your disgust towards me.

Like the first time we kissed
I carry the memory of us growing apart every other day—
we don’t touch, kiss, you don’t say I love you too,
heck, we don’t talk at all.


I want you to go,
even if you go out into the rain
even if winter is coming
even if it’s in the cold dark nights
even if monsters await you, baying for your blood
because my heart is not yours to trample
and I will try to forget you
I’ll try to move on—
unless you collect all the scattered pieces of my heart and piece them together—
my heart is not yours. 


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