He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

She was so attractive,
Back when she was ”right”
She went to work everyday,
She said her prayers at night,
To this common life,
She had come,
so far,
“it takes courage to grow up and become who you are”,
Resided,
Then content,
something had to break,
They said she was an ‘accident”,
But people make mistakes,
And, still she is forgiving,
She is actualized,
It doesn’t even matter,
You don’t look her in the eye,
She who you looked down upon,
Now makes you feel strange,
and all she ever did was ask,
“Have you got some change”?
©B L Costello 2018