August 29th, 2021
Something in me grows heavy every time you make me cry. Maybe it's too often to be healthy, or maybe I'm too sensitive to get a grip. But I can't deny the ache in my guts, or the quiver of my lip, or the urge to sink my nails into my arm and tear. Blame doesn't get placed on me, I guess, it just falls over time. I happen to be standing right where I shouldn't be. "What happens when we're both sad?" I had asked once, to which I got no real answer from you. But I already knew what I'd do. I already knew that the ache in my guts was not as important as yours. I already knew that the tears on my face would just send you spiraling. So I ignore the ache until it subsides. I dry my tears before you can see them. And I rub my hands on your back, and my fingers through your hair, and I pepper kisses all over your face to remind you that I care more than you know. I always care. Always too much. Because we can't both be sad, right? Someone always has to take one for the team. And it will always be me.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PoesíaI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
