A rusted padlock hangs
between my breast and ribs.
I lost the key a hundred
heartbreaks a go when
the tear swamp grew teeth
and tore a hole
in my starry eyes.
It wasn’t bitter that lost the key
or the clinging ribbons of lost love.
Reality stormed in like a bitch
who knows her truth and tore
the pink curtain from my daydreams.
She taught me to woman up,
a few bruises on my spirit wouldn’t kill,
and building a wall around my heart
only makes me the prisoner.
The rusty open lock and I are friends.
When I struggle about letting
someone in, it reminds me
empty feeds too many ghosts.
Comments
a few bruises on my spirit wouldn’t kill" That is wonderful advice. Love it.
I liked too, your "tear swamp (growing) teeth and "tearing" a hole in my starry eyes. That was me at the start.
Very appropriate for of side of most broken romances, you think?
..
'I lost the key a hundred
heartbreaks a go when
the tear swamp grew teeth
and tore a hole
in my starry eyes'
made me gasp.
But I was relieved to read the lines:
'The rusty open lock and I are friends.
When I struggle about letting
someone in, it reminds me
empty feeds too many ghosts'.