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Broken Hearts Seem Such a Waste

sexy camellia

I studied which sweater you’d like,
what’s for breakfast, when to ask and not.
Important lessons never right enough.
I was eliminated from the next round.

You’re filled too, if you paid attention.
Note: Ritter chocolate, Asiatic lilies.
Should we discard streaky windows
or recycle them for a new heart?

I studied which sweater you’d like,
what’s for breakfast, when to ask and not.

Pity the next ones stirring the rubble.
I’m tired and despairing of a whole-heart love.
Who would sort my scabs and scars?
Could I open bones filled with secrets?

All that energy scibbered away.
It sprung me: toss it in or let it out?
Maybe I could have spent it better
making something to hold onto…a nice pot.

I studied which sweater you’d like,
what’s for breakfast, when to ask and not.

Opportunity—what about those misses.
Don’t say “each love is a classroom …
You’ll get there when you’re ready.”
Whatever could that look like?

Love—soured, spat out and washed away,
beats safety, footing and progress.
Messy windows, crusty scabs, fossil-habits
stumble broken hearts along.

I studied which sweater you’d like.