I think it's really good that I can't write poetry anymore
Or is it?
Am I fixed or am I numbed?
Did she pull all the broken glass out of my mouth?
Did I swallow it?
Can you run from the wreckage and fall apart in the very first place you ever felt safe,
Does that make it okay?
My heart is a tragedy
Always sad, always awake alone at night
And I would not change it.
But
Why didn't I ever dream of anything?
Did I forget?
Jesus Christ
I didn't build this life for me
My heart was torn and stitched and ripped and sewn and sprayed blood over half the country before I sat here in one place to say
Am I fixed?