write your heart out
that’s what they always say
so i did
i bled her out entirely
i turned my chest inside out
severed my stomach and coughed it up
onto a silver platter meant to be served

poetry is taste testing
watching each person who reads
take a bite
savoring the faint beat of every memory
too sweet for some
too bitter for another
too spicy
too rubbery
so raw it’s become impossible to swallow

sometimes writing makes me feel helpless outside of my own body
watching my heart die in the hands of others
she once used to beat
long before i wrote her out