Thrust a Heart against a Wall
they say it’s futile
old dog, new tricks type shit
hopeless to the third degree because
everybody knows about vultures
they only love from a distance
fly full circles, swoop down
when the will is most brittle
they can smell the stench of decay
the same can be said of lovers like me, who
force those who love them to hold their love at bay
with ten foot rules
about closeness, loving most nights when you get
the closest, but for the most, it’s time spent
cursing the days that you regret you ever met them
hearts held tight in tender talon hands
a gentle squeeze, it pleases at first
but choking is only a turn on until that moment
you’re aware that you can’t breathe
constricted, emotional agoraphobic and the love
is like open air
panic attacks, exposed, skin peeled back
light headed nauseous feeling
trouble swallowing, lose control
the sickening thump accompanying the sound of
holding a beating heart a few inches from your own
and then thrusting it
against a wall
but I’m no
heartbreaker, just a man with awkward hands
who no one ever taught how to hold a future
and most of the ones I’ve ever witnessed
were bad, long before the tension had passed
I’m talking past tense bad like
why are we still together
as if refusal to be alone weathers more storms than love can
I’ve seen
the bottom fall out
wedded bliss replaced by fists
slammed hard against empty tables, hearts that used to be
a lot more willing, lovers reduced to strangers feeling that their
fabled fairy tale ending didn’t end
quite as happily as it should have
and perhaps I’ve caused more harm than good
trying to love like a realist, cause I’m so quick
to see some coming con and hold onto the feeling that I’m
going to give you everything
and get nothing in return
I learned there are
lies centered between the sweetest thighs and that
pretty brown eyes can reflect more than what’s there
and the best way to avoid being shattered by their guise
was to create a heart that only cares
just enough
so I’ve given and taken love, just enough
like insults, blunt and unforgiving
never quite learning to be p.c.
their love for me too much like oil spills
and I was sadly too BP
meaning
I never really took responsibility for it
until it was far too late
splintered hearts by letting them love me to pieces
but I can only give a piece of me
wondering if maybe I’ve come to be complacent
able to compare the love I give to crying
when it happens, sometimes it makes you feel better
but nobody’s trying to do it all the time
because it drains some things inside, leaving
vulnerable spots exposed
and there’s this sense that it’s all for nothing
cultivating a plot where nothing grows
they say I’m futile
old dog, new tricks type shit
frustrating to the fifth degree because
everybody knows about vultures
we only
love
from a distance
