a doctor once told me I had a cracked spine
and it all made sense because
I always seemed to fall in your direction.

but maybe I'm not afraid of heights
our falling from them
just the noise my heart makes when it hits the ground.

I need a new endoskeleton
to keep my heart from getting punctured
or maybe my current one is just tired of the bruises.

you want to know how I got these scars?
I ripped every memory of you out of my heart
and out of my mind and sacrificed them
to the part of me every time you
come into my vision screams "move on".

just when I started to get over you
I saw your face again and realized:
I will never be able to be just friends with you.

when the space between us went from
the gap between my fingers
to the distance from here to the MilkyWay
I told myself:
fire and water don't mix,
but when they love, they love passionately.

but unfortunately,
my local supermarket doesn't sell a band aid
able to fix a heart.
and my mother never taught me how to sew.

but tell me I'm not crazy when you were the one
who taught me to be thankful when my lungs filled with air.
how can it be a crime to come home late
from wondering what it would be like to wake up next to you everyday?

and I had a front row seat to watch
you give her everything I once gave you.
and with every syllable,
I swallow yet another piece of my heart.
but I do not complain.
for what good is art if it is not shared?

loving you was self-destruction.
I treated you as if you were the sun
and I were the flowers; I needed you.
But I guess the sun doesn't need the flowers
as much as the flowers need the sun.

but you were always my biggest muse.

(s.j.b.)

You are more than a bottle,
the scars,
the bruises.
You are more than
unfulfilled promises,
duct-taped hearts,
and broken dreams.
You are more than
the scars used to hide all the
times you swore it would be the last.
You are more than
the judgemental stares,
the constant glares in your direction of people
searching for something they can
tuck into their pocket
only to reveal when a conversation gets boring.
You are more than
your father who spells love L-E-A-V-E
and your brother who thinks the leave will turn into love
at the bottom of another Budweiser
and your mother who still searches for his plot lines within the morning paper.
You are more than
the four walls closing in around you
with the word "succeed" written on them.
You are more than the ropes used to hold you down
With the words "fin in" written on them.
And contrary to popular belief,
you are not defined by a number on a scale
nor by the reflection looking back at you screaming "you'll never be good enough!"
You are more than the homes you have made for yourself
inside of others.
So break down that brick exterior
And do not rely on them for your shelter.
Build your own garden,
plant your own flowers,
and do not rely on others to bring you seeds.

(s.j.b.)