you said i didn’t know how it felt to have my heart broken,
something about me being too young, too cynical to understand.
maybe i didn’t spend nights crying over the boy who cheated on me,
or felt sick to my stomach over the thought of him with someone else

but I’ve stood in a white room, stripped bare on command to
show the self inflicted wounds coating my my arms, legs and stomach
and i heard the gasp of pain and anguish come from my mothers mouth
as she laid eyes on my frame,
unable to tear my eyes from the ground and meet hers but hearing
all too loudly the quiet sobs as she buried her head in my father's shoulder
and he in turn, choked at the sight of me.

and when i looked up, finally, with dry eyes and a blank face,
i saw almost all the colour drained from him, only red underneath
his eyes to break from the whiteness of his skin, like a weeping ghost.
i saw the shake in her hands, clasped as though she was praying to god,
wondering if he had abandoned her in that moment.
fearing that i was one missed phone call away from meeting him.

i heard her heart break into tiny pieces,
i watched his almost come out of his throat
and mine, in turn, shrivel away like a slug that had been doused with salt.

don’t tell me i dont know heartbreak.
the two hearts that made me i broke in 5 minutes
and ive split my own in half to make up for their loss.
to try and repay them for what i destroyed.
and maybe i don’t have much left to give after that.
not much hope or joy left to share

but when i invite you into my home,
you’ll see one half in her green eyes
and hear the other in his voice.
and i hope then you’ll know, just how acquainted i am with the heart
and just how it feels when it breaks.