it's better: in a word,
better like it's better to be beaten bloody
than killed outright.
better that you let me down easy,
baby into a cradle of reeds and set
adrift on choppy riverwaves.
is this for my benefit?
better not to break my heart down
the road, better to spear it here,
now, roast it over an open fire
and lay it on bed of cloves when
you nudge it back in my direction.
if i'm looking at you in shock, it's only to say:
it's yours now, why would i want that back?
but its been yours before and before that it was his
and before that it was hers and it was gnawed on
by ravenous wolves or passed over by spoiled
and choosy cows and now here i am with a heart
dotted with puncture wounds in the shape
of someone else's careless teeth, with stamps
of disapproval over the font - side - back.
do you look at it and think it's useless to you?
i think it would serve you just fine.
she's a good heart, she's just been trampled on
a few times.
if i'm looking at you funny it's because i don't understand -
she's yours now and i cleaned her up nice just so you wouldn't be ashamed
to carry her around next to yours.
better, in a sense, but only because you said so
and not because it's true at all or even a little bit.
i hurt as badly as if i'd been scalded by bathwater or
choked by an aggressive lover - no better.
no worse.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
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