Her heart was used and abused.. Letting it break is what she refused. She had to patch it up every time she felt it crack ... In the dark place she never wanted to go back ..
That's where her old heart was at.

How long has it been since they were last together?
She remembers the first rainy dinner and the soggy bread.
She remembers the road trip to California, lost on the road forever.
The first picture taken of them embracing hasn’t left her mind.
After they hugged, she snuck a peck and he turned Venetian red.
She remembers the way he sang out on the streets for change.
His voice, only one of its kind.
What she’ll always remember is how he started acting strange
and how the little blue pill box wasn’t what she thought.
Struggling, he had one foot in adulthood,
the other fighting to keep him in his youth.
She remembers even though they were so in love,
she couldn’t see and misunderstood.
She shook those thoughts away
and got her head down from above.
35 and now just seeing the truth
of how a little blue pill box can cause a strife.
She knew now, for the rest of her life
he would always be the angel-faced boy and nothing more
because he would forever stay 24.

So this is what it felt like.
People always told me that it would just feel like peace.
To me, I always imagined it to be a field of marigolds,
with the smells of golden amber and patchouli
wavering through my bones.

It was the days when my knotted hair
finally became unraveled and
you combed through the tangles while
the smell of berries and mint floated through the air.

It was the burnt butter of the waffles cooking in the iron
and thick bacon spewing bits
of grease out of the pan
as Mother cooked on cartoon-filled Saturday mornings.

I was always told that with peace,
there were no inviting questions.
No sinful, succulent maybes.
No mirroring what-ifs.

You in the arms of another,
no marigolds, tangles, or berries.
Death, you didn’t get me this time.
I will be okay.

I am a square inside a circle.
sometimes we speak tangentially,
but mostly I try to crawl
back into its center.
the way it rotates around me,
every hour, every day
is how I wish myself to be:
round, lively, unafraid.
but those **** edges
move back and forth,
reminding me how close, yet far
my ideal self slides
more and more, away.