My heart is a whore.
Pulling off her top, she’ll promptly lay spread eagle
for the most ordinary kindness, and the most platonic of smiles
as though gestures were jewels and teeth are gold.
She reads into everything that can never be put in words
as if one decent guess or correct presumption
would prove the existence of supernatural powers.
Bitch you are not psychic,
you’re not even capable of utilizing female intuition.
Too busy wishing and wanting
to distinguish delusion from friendly interest.
I once would proclaim with a grin that my heart was a rock.
What I failed to say
is that it’s plain dumb as a box of them
and easier to break than anything else you will ever see fall.
I used to brag that it was so well guarded
you’d think it was a castle
before a mirage in the sun cleared to reveal
your average HUD home with a couple Rottweiler’s out front
who would lay down for a raw steak and good rub around the ears.
My heart has no survival instincts
and does the opposite of everything it’s ever been told.
My heart is a child, easily talked into the back of van
with a soft voice and noisy wrappers.
There is nothing hard, closed or sound at its core.
My heart is a fool and should be tied to a fence
to be kept from being hurt
like a dog that would follow its nose into the road.
If my heart had a head
I would draw a bath without bubbles
and hold it underwater, pausing only to command
“Stop wanting what you want!”
If my heart had hands
I would clamp them to a bench in a wood shop
and start breaking fingers, pinkie to thumb
with a mallet or heavy wrench
until it agreed to shut the fuck up.
If my heart had legs
I would shatter both kneecaps
and threaten to take the ankles next,
with my hands shaking to the tip of the bat
and my lungs shouting to the point of damage
“When are you gonna stop being so fucking naďve!?”
Nothing ever happens when you want it so bad
you could die happy after a day of having.
My heart is an undying optimist
I want to kill.
If I could tear it from my body and keep living
I swear to Christ I would.
I would punch through my own chest like a plaster wall,
rip it out, then slam it down to the ground
like a worthless piece of meat
and stab it repeatedly with a sharp edged blade.
It would be called a crime of passion and I would explain
that it was simply an intervention. _________________ shemovesme.wordpress.com
Wed Aug 10, 2011 4:02 pm
MysteryGirl Moderators
Joined: 02 Jun 2007
Posts: 3419
Location: I come from a land downunder
Hey Brach....I think I WILLED you back here. Have been reading the back issues of the poetry pages and marvelling anew at the way you string ordinary words together to form such potent images. And then I wake up and here you are again, with another word picture extreme.
And, as to the lines quoted below, all I can say is I know, believe me, I know.
My heart is a fool and should be tied to a fence
to be kept from being hurt
like a dog that would follow its nose into the road.
_________________ Be yourself.............everybody else is taken!
Wed Aug 10, 2011 11:25 pm
MdmPrez
Joined: 16 Oct 2007
Posts: 803
Location: US of A
Brach
Yes Ma'am, this is so powerful. You sure delineated your course of action and the images were terrific.
Loved it!!!
Cat
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