I forget what it’s like
to have my heart beat freely;
you’ve always controlled my blood flow,
squeezing blood with your palms
through my arteries,
softly suffocating -
pump, pump, pump.

I don’t know how it feels
for my stomach to make its way
up my throat, only when I had the flu.
Not every single day, when I see you
reaching your hand towards that girl’s heart
while you distract her with your lips on her face.

I haven’t forgotten how to kiss my father goodnight
and how to spend time alone in the trees.
I know what it’s like to heal a broken heart,
but please, promise me, before you reach in
and take her heart with your left hand,
release mine from your right.
Don’t worry about sealing it back in my chest,
I can do that just fine.
Just drop it right there,
I want to stitch back in what’s mine.