I have this long standing belief,
In spite of all previous experiences to the contrary
That love will find me again
Except this time, it will blossom into a garden where now only lies dry soil
And it will be overflowing enough for everyone to get a share and come home with their own love to pass around.
So while I momentarily grieve each broken heart,
I remain steadfast in the hope that the next one will be that kind of love.
I tried fixing your heart
and you let me.
Out of kindness, I suppose.
Who knows?
But upon careful examination,
My unfavorable conclusion
Is that your heart’s not broken.
It just doesn’t beat for me.
Your face is a poem.
With eyes that dance to a meter,
and lips that speak in rhyme.
I sometimes understand you.
But mostly, I find you open to interpretation.
That is your secret,
and I am endlessly fascinated.
I know we’re in the middle of a world’s that’s gone and flipped itself over,
and I can’t make heads or tails of things beyond me.
So I’m sticking to this simple dream–
I just want someone to kiss hello,
and to blow kisses goodbye.
I’ve dry-cleaned the gown that I’ll wear in that surprise party you said you’d throw me one day.
And I’ve packed my suitcase just in case we finally make it to that trip you’ve promised.
I’ve brought my boots out if you ever think of going on that hike.
Our list is getting longer, but not my patience.
I’m so ready for you to be ready.
At a certain angle, our love looks smooth and perfect.
But up close, it is lines crashing upon each other,
Edges jutting out,
Sharp and dangerous.
It is not the kind that will survive scrutiny.
Maybe we’ll share coffee again someday
in our favorite cafe.
And maybe we’ll hold hands, we’ll see.
Just the thought of it makes me giddy.
Maybe I’ll stare into your actual eyes
and not the screen.
Someday I’ll wake up
and know you’re not a dream.
It might soon, but maybes lie
But I still hope, don’t ask me why
Or when or how
But when this is through,
I will see you.
You didn’t read how our story ends
Even though it was your hand that wrote it.
Maybe you pictured yourself a hero
and I didn’t need saving.
Maybe you saw yourself kind
and I didn’t need kindness either.
But someday, when you figure out
how to love in earnest,
You’ll open up our book and read til the very end
And know that I never said it was all your fault.
On Guns and Hearts
On Owning a gun and giving one’s heart:
It should only be given to a person who can responsibly care for it.
It should only be possessed by a person of sound mind.
It should only be accepted by one who knows he consequences of misuse.
*Somebody reminded my yesterday that poetry can be used to make a stand and my stand is responsible gun ownership.
I think one important key to determining responsibility is complying with a strict protocol on dispensing gun licenses. You wouldn’t give a license to a person not fit to drive, and so should it be for a person not fit to own a weapon.