what do you do when you have placed your heart in the hands of who you have come to know as your home for safekeeping, but those hands that lead butterflies to your stomach when placed against yours, have left fingerprints on your heart so deep there are more craters than there is left of you, to love
I wrote this while in the hospital back in 2019. I had forgotten about it until recently, and now have decided to post it.
all these poems I write start with I, I swear I’m not self centered but they say write what you know. So in a desperate attempt to learn this soul of mine All I write about is me. And you, Yes, I write about you. I write about the beauty of you. Of how I would love to leave fingerprints on your heart and caress your soul . I mean if you would allow me To love you Freely.
Do I spin on this wheel of fortune forever? Offering slices of my heart like a bake sale. Or should I look at you with glass eyes? The world is full of dormant men who love the emptiness of women. A vacant place behind her eyes that says I’m no longer here. I had to pack and retreat long ago because I’m too scared. I’m scared of you. I’m scared your hands are too rough to reach into my chest. Your hands are fickle. No fingerprints. I’d say I miss you but a man without fingerprints can’t leave a mark.
Finally, at last. I thought you'd never leave my mind. But today, for the first time in 142 days. I didn't woke up, Thinking about you. Surprisingly, I never thought this was love. Just a stupid remedy, For a self broken heart. But dispite the fact I'm not thinking about you. You still left your fingerprints on my skin. And your voice in my ears.
I'm writing a small poem every day, about how I feel or the world around me. This is #4