I am the yo-yo, hooked to a piece of string.
You are the hand that pulls,
controls the whole mechanism.
As the hand pushes away,
the yo-yo distances itself;
just to be pulled back into the hand
with the slightest tug.
No matter how many times the yo-yo
spins away,
she is always found in the embrace
of the hand yet again.
And no matter how near or far
the hand is to the yo-yo
(or the yo-yo to the hand),
the two are always connected.

This is not a poem about love.

I don’t really love that many people.

Not truly, way down deep in my heart.

I guard it. I numb it.

I don’t let it get hurt.

But that’s really just the lie I tell myself so that I feel safe.

I’m easy to pierce and I’m easily broken.

I hang on too tight to things that aren’t always there.

I fantasize.

Not in a *****

Nasty way

But in a way that makes me hope.

Hope that maybe one day this will mean something

We can look back and remember a first touch

A first word

The first time we knew

Or I knew

And then when you did in turn

Or maybe that will all be flipped around

Chronology isn’t important

What matters is that it happens

Eventually

Some day

Sometime

Soon

My heart has never been this broken.

And you’ve broken it before.

This is real.

This is the end.

My Canvas Still Blank,
As I Ponder My Pallette,
My Words Still Bleak,
As I Fish For Meaning,
My Sound Still Sharp,
As I Struggle To Sing,
My Mind Still Exhausted,
As I Awake For Another Rushed Day,
My Heart Still Silent,
Because You Are Still Gone