trouvaille and sunlight

three hundred thirty-four days of smoking

is something bad for you
meant to be hated?

i grew up watching my father
consume smoke
more than love.

cigarettes gave him
more relief
than whatever
home is
to someone who
is longing comfort.

i have inherited
no gold
no money
no love
but broken lungs.

for someone who
is longing comfort,
i also found relief
from smoking
more than giving the love
i should give.

one pack of cigarettes
is equivalent
to one day in a year
that i have
not yet
found my home.

i filled
my lungs
with smoke
that does not furnish
a life with meaning.

but it made me feel guarantee
an existence,
a new year
does not.

31 days before the year ends,
i met you,
the day I stopped
smoking.

a whole year of smoking does not
compare,
to the 31 days I felt
with you.

i removed the cigarette
in my mouth,
just for me to kiss you.

a kiss
so clean,
so endearing,
so addicting.

31 days of holding
something that burns
my heart, and not
a lighter.

a lung
that is broken
will never be like a
heart
that is broken.
it doesn't shatter
and placed into pieces.

it
is
broken.

yet in whole.

is something bad for you
meant to be hated?

because
i was bad
for you.

for me,
to leave
you
longing
for comfort.

you inherited
not just
love,
i give you all the clean air
i could've breathed in.