Posted in Poetry

A Heart

i’ve been careful.

i think it was

time that i was.

 

you see,

we are

.              used to

hold on-

 

to things

like they

belong

to us.

 

but they do not.

 

we Beat

ourselves

black and

blue like-

 

it all

really matters

.                             to us.

 

but it does not.

 

so i have been

careful, lately.

 

i started holding

my own

.                 hand

when i entered

a darkened room.

 

i’ve stopped

reaching

.                  back

knowing my own

was

.          enough.

 

i painted

cotton candy

.                         skies,

and put them in

a postcard.

 

i mailed it to

no one

.              at all.

 

maybe if we’re

 .                            lucky,

it will reach you

maybe if we’re

.                            lucky,

it won’t.

 

i guess,

i got tired

of having

a Beating

  .                   Heart.

 

(or this,

or that,

or you,

or me.)

 

Hearts are for those

who need

 .                them.

and i don’t need

a thing,

.               at all.

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Author:

23-year-old writer from Chile. Currently reading, writing, and trying not to lose my mind.

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