broken hearts aren’t badges
look how lovable i am, and look how little i care

i don’t mind their stains of red and white on my shirt
the half moon crescents i leave on their pillows

born to misplace words and sleep in different rooms
to love any big eyed sucker who returns eye contact
kisses bruises in unusual places, my hand

to fall every night
to sip the sun until i don’t feel it at all
to return to the mouths i once fed with poetry and mint chapstick