On the Distribution of One's Heart

On the Distribution of One's Heart

(A Haiku Quintet)

I had given my

heart to someone who didn’t

know how to hold it.

Instead, they cradled

it like an adolescent

with a stranger’s child:

awkward and uneasy,

with a fear of falling

head first and snapping.

I gave my heart to

someone who didn’t quite want

it and was surprised

when they gave it back.

They said to keep it safe, but

their fingers left bruises.

Chennette

I was born like a chennette:

My green mother-

sliced open down the middle,

And me- squeezed out.

 Pink, sticky, sour.

Drowning

Drowning
(A Haiku Pair)

I am drowning. You

have oversaturated

me, but I need it.

You overwhelm me.

I gasp for air but choking

never felt so good.

Going The Distance

Have you ever gone through your personal poetry archives and stumbled upon an old piece that, at the time of writing, you were convinced was absolutely awful, but now that you've given it some space, it turns out it wasn't too bad after all? This piece is one of them. It's almost a year old and no longer personally relevant, but I hope you like it.

Distance pulls heartstrings taut

While memory taunts

Sighs go unanswered

Empty promises fill

Where your touch should be.

Silence breeds disquiet:

I quietly wonder

If it’ll be worth it in the end.