12 am, she sleeps,
the one I call my mom.
And then from 1 to 4,
I am rapidly torn.
My mother has no clue,
God bless her lack of ears.
I scream at the top of my voice,
While he savors my tears.
Darling, tell me what makes you break my heart?
What makes you enjoy my turmoil? When I wash my hands in your fire, what makes you enjoy the smell of my burns? What makes you calm looking at my efforts to pull my hands out of it? What makes you grin at my screams? And, when I drown in your sea, what makes you comfortable looking at the chills that run across my body? What makes you breathe victory when I gasp for breath and what makes you smile bright when my sights have blurred?
The fact that you stand where I once stood. The fact that I went through the same questions some time ago. The fact that what breaks you is something that broke me. Continue reading “What Makes You Break My Heart?”
He asks me, ‘Are you never going to love someone?’
‘If he’ll feel my pain’, I’ll love him.
‘If he won’t judge me on my past’, I’ll love him.
‘If he’ll sit under the sky wiping my tears off’, I’ll love him.
‘If he’ll be loving me rather than my body’, I’ll love him.
She asks me, ‘Are you never going to love someone?’