He loved her fierce.
Like the breath would be stolen from his body
If he left her side for a moment of peace,
Or a cup of tea with a friend.

And when she broke his heart the first time
I watched him gasp for air.
He acted as though his sun was gone
And he grew cold.

The second time, he loved her fierce,
But careful.
And she loved him transparently.
The day she found her tongue dancing with another she blamed him.

The second time she broke his heart,
I watched the scrapes and scabs on his knuckles tell his story.
The anger, hurt, the tears that he wouldn’t let anyone see.
He swore never again.

And the third time he loved her,
It was only fierce.
His endless “I love you,” drowning in her
Finger-crossed promises that he holds high above his head.

And I watch him pull away
And I watch him gasp for air
And I watch him chain himself to her
And I wish she loved him fierce.

Some people may ask,
How do you recover from a broken heart?
Well honestly, I don't know..
Because my heart hasn't healed
from all the hurtful words, and crying every night
because i'll never be good enough.
My heart hasn't healed from seeing him with another girl.
But you know what? Boys are boys.
Broken hearts aren't that easy to recover from
but boys will always be just boys,
and they won't ever notice the things
that they do to you.

Broken hearts write the best songs
Broken hearts write the best poetry
Broken hearts taste a divine dose of creativity
But why is it always so bitter?

But more sad songs and poems
Are written every day.

I kissed you, once. Twice. Three or four or five
Ecstatic times, or maybe more. I kissed
You once when I shouldn't have, many more
When I should have. In a park and with Red
October on the tee-vee and Sean Connery
Somehow pretending to be Russian.

I kissed you under the fireworks
On the Fourth, and in a caboose
At your family reunion. Remember
How we'd walk around at high school
Football games, back when anything
Was possible, and AIM was popular?

Over six times: there were marshmallows,
And the old, broken, Charlotte High School gym.
When I asked you out, I'd been dared.
The first time I kissed you, I was dared. That kiss,
Cliche and on the bleachers, brought
Butterflies that I only just fought off.

You, Ashleigh, were my first love, not named
"Wrestling"-- but I went to you-ess-enn-ay
And you went to em-ess-you. You moved
To greater Lansing from Port Huron
Just as I packed up my stuff to crisscross
My way over four years to San Diego.

I kissed you, once-- or was it more?