Happy National Poetry Month! In honor of the beginning of this month, here’s an excerpt from one of the poems I’m currently working on:
She had the gift
of falling in love
with men who were collectors.
Collecting pieces of her heart-
a heart that was already broken-
like little bits of string.
She never knew how to snatch
those pieces of her heart back
when she saw the pieces weren’t
what those men were looking for
or what they felt they needed.
So she decided to become a collector
too. Only she’d never developed an eye
for spotting the genuine &
so she collected I love yous
Many years’ worth of promised
in a place she learned to forget
Why did I ever believe, she lamented
that love would eventually appear and
the collectors would become men to be trusted?
My own mother seemed incapable of
grinding love into bite-sized pieces for me.
And my dad, while he knew all about love
it’s what took him away from me.
He said love tried to suffocate him and
he had to leave so he’d be able to breathe.
Peace & Love,