I saw him with fresh new eyes.
Reborn as he asked me what type of
jar
my heart was incased in.
I told him of painted dandelions on the side
and I thought of how we are just hoarders of hearts.
Or pieces of them.
A fragment of your mother's heart for everything you have
ever done
and will ever do.
I thought of how we hold a fragment of the heart of our first
Love
Crush
Kiss
Touch
We hold the hearts of every single ghost-like memory in our hands.
We stick them in jars and pretend like we didn’t paint flowers on them.

He is fragile.
We all are.
All of our jars will cut us when broken.
And nothing can stop the jar from being broken
Because people love to smash things
With all kinds of weapons
Battering rams
Baseball bats
Hands
Feet
Tongues
We love it.
Every open flesh wound
That is opened sets us free
Free to say “sounds beautiful”
And I speak of him with romance
Platonic romance I guess
I assume
I may never know
But I don’t care
I find peace in his words
And I hope he finds peace in mine
Because the world is so broken and
Full of
Glass shards
that drunken ******* have throw down.
Full of empty eyes
And pill bottles
I want to blame my mother and my father
And I want him to blame his father
But I can’t force either of our hearts
To do it.
No force of nature can make the anger appear
We aren’t god.  
Nor will we ever be.
We will only ever be people
Talking
In the dead of night about what form of
captivity in which we hold our hearts.