it was of no importance I say

I’m dismissive of the history of my heart
this fistful of cherries and bitter melon
dismissive of all its yearning
its hopeful gaze
and its reaching arms
that I swat back in place

I’m dismissive of my heart
its history I despise
and all the words she made me say
while my mind was crumpled and stuffed in a box

I think I could no longer feel
and my heart is weeping for me
but weep no longer as I call out their names
and burn each an effigy
spill my own blood
to rid myself of this history
of constant painful breaks

I’m dismissive of the history of my heart
I no longer want to feel it
eating me from the inside out

the last of it

where’s your dress?
flowing in and out
where’s your compact?
trying to dance to a different song
well, here it all is
loose threads and shattered glass
on the thicket and the trinkets
scattered across the freshly cut grass
how sweet the scent of summer?
but youth has now run away
and you’re left to clean up its mess
so what, so what
a piano twinkles on the horizon
and a melody somberly plays
where’s your youth?
where’s your head?
no matter, no matter
barefeet on grass, the mess is mess
and you can very well
walk away from it