Accepting what I cannot

thousands of thoughts tied to pigeons

Bundles of nerves sent "welcome to Sunday" three times today to make sure I got the message

And I thanked my aching back, so the world did not take me for a pessimist

You look at wounds and profess to me your addictions

But these are not track marks these are the doings of wearied syringe needles trying to break the stitches

This is boredom trying to claw its way out from my chest

Trying to cover thousands of thoughts with coats of cinnamon and sex

My house is a chorus of car horns driving past neighbors

They're unmedicated and scared but it shall be my turn to embrace that fate later

I bewitched my beloved into becoming a stranger

I cannot build a requitted love out of relations and prayer

I sent him a thousand thoughts tied to pigeons

Doves before I learned how to slowly burn bits and pieces off bridges

He still proclaimed they were birds snatched from the streets

With maladies fuming from their beaks

So, I gave him the amounts of which he assumed of me

Love letters covered with incurable disease

It is not worth sewing your hurt into birds

And if heartbreak is his expectation from you let his prophecies become a curse