Thursday, January 19, 2017


When you send back the shattered
pieces of my heart, send them all. 
Do not keep even 
the tiniest sliver as a memento.
It was mine.
They are mine.
All of them.

Put all the bits in a plastic bag
and press it all down in a corner,
and twist it off so it’s sort of shaped 
like it used to be, like a fist. 
Did you know your heart is about 
the size and shape of your fist?

That’s true.

Freeze it solid so it will keep
without rotting. I can take it
out every once in a while and
hold the cold against my chest 
where it used to beat,
to remind myself
No one breaks your heart
unless you hand it to them first.


I learned that lesson long ago
and why I chose to do it
again is a mystery.

That’s not true.

I was just so lonely.
I really do know better
after all this time, it’s best 
to not have hope
for a heart that’s beat will
sync up with mine and 
even if one does, it’s still 
best to just walk away

They can’t break your heart 
unless you hand it to them first.

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