heartbreak
isn’t something to just
“get over”.
heartbreak
isn’t anything
poetic or pretty.
it’s not
just staying up late
listening to sad songs
to yourself and
somehow just
“getting over it”
the next day.
i could sit here and
attach heartbreak
to every metaphor
you probably haven’t ever heard of;
yet still not understand it.
it’s just something else -
it’s another dimension.
heart break is
seeing their face everywhere
through a busy street at 2pm
in the afternoon
and slowly
feeling every bone in your body crack.
it’s seeing their face
in everyone else and
it’s being at the brink of absolute breakdown
in the middle of class
and sitting in bathroom stalls,
screaming to yourself
to just
stop.
it’s your soul
abusing your already shattered heart
that you don’t care about them
that you just need to stop.
your knees shake
and your body quivers
because your soul is all that is has
and even this soul
is bruising it to its core.
it makes you firm on the idea
that everything
that is yours
is always going to bruise you.
at that points
you become distant,
even from yourself
because
if you’re not yours,
you can’t hurt yourself
right?
and at that point
you’re at war with yourself -
and you drag your weeping heart
back to the outside world.
as if there was no war at all.
it’s sitting with your friends
on a tuesday morning,
laughing
from the depth of your gut
and suddenly feeling the ghost of their
lips
upon your neck
or the feel of their fingers
intermingling within yours
and my god.
it’s feeling
their laughter in your bone
in sync with yours
until their warm breath becomes
the tears in your eyes.
it’s sitting there as
everyone asks you to
tell them what’s wrong
but how do you put it in words
that
“oh my god. it fucking hurts”.
what hurts?
they will never know.
no one will ever know.
heartbreak is
wandering around with your heart
in your throat trying
to find a place
which doesn’t fucking taste like them.
but you know what?
everything tastes like them.
the sky,
the sun,
the wind,
a good drink -
everything.
it’s waking up in the middle of the night
from a dream you had
about them coming back
and screaming in terror and ache;
as you curl up in a ball
and cover your ears
and shut your eyes
in hopes
their presence will vanish.
but you know what?
it doesn’t.
your chest aches,
you lungs almost collapse
and you spend
the remaining hours
putting all your pieces together
in hopes
you may survive the next day.
and the next.
and the next.
and the next.
stop making love
into a joke;
stop making promises
to people if you know
you can’t keep them.
stop telling people
you won’t leave them
when leaving is the only form of
art you know how to paint in people’s hearts.
just stop it all.
you can’t treat hearts like
cigarettes
and stomp on them
when you’re done.
you can’t just break a heart and
tell someone to just
“get over it”
because you know what?
no one just gets over it.
they learn to survive.
and that’s just all.
