New heart
Old heart
Fused together so perfectly
The torn pieces
The frayed
All sewed and mended
But not new,
No they wouldn’t be, would they?

I am sitting here
At 9:39
At night
In the cold
Chilling silence
Of my childhood bedroom

A place of pain I forgot to abandon
And I’m feeling manic
Enraged and enticed
By foggy drunk memories
Of your soft tangly hair
In my mouth
And between my fingers

But this poem isn’t for you
My peach
My perfect pear
(but isn’t it always really
about you, my love?
Don’t you live forever
In the back of my mind?)
No
Not now, I won’t think
I can’t think
I’ll just watch the curser
Flashing curiously at the top of the page
And dwell on how unutterably
******,
my life has become

My life
With it’s twists and turns
It’s cruel little jokes
I am a punching bag for the universe
I am the teacher
The one the boys learn to be better from
Only to practice on soft
Untattered
Unbroken women

Those who can’t do
Teach
And I can’t do love.