Could I have known?

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by amputee-rex

by amputee-rex

Yes.

I mean, 3rd time's a charm, right?
Wrong.

It's not a problem with you.
That's supposed to make it better?

You'll get it next time.
Next time?

Next time.
This time
There is no
"Next time"

I'm hanging up my coat, right beside a jar full of the pieces of my heart
So minuscule from being broken over and over again
They're not quite the vibrant red I remember them
Now they're just a calm black
Occasionally swept about the jar by the little but of wind that can enter and exit

I still guard it
Why? There's nothing to guard
Believe me, I know
But
Something tells me
If I don't
They could just be stolen
Or ground up
Or melted
Or completely burned away
So I wait
Back to the door
My heart in my hands
Well, what's left of it anyway,
Guarding the little pieces from anyone and everyone

Thank you
Precious one
3 years long one
3 times a no one
Never lying one
For showing me that everyone can hurt you
As if I needed another reason to flinch when someone moves towards me
I thought you were the one who was going to not hurt me
At least, not nearly as much as others had
Or as you had
Before
Not quite.
That hurt the most.

I'm throwing in the towel
Or trying to at least
I don't want to see her
Or talk to her
Because everything she says and does Reminds me of good memories
Reminds me of why I asked
Reminds me of the hurt

What now?
I wait
I wait for my heart to heal
I wait for someone to sweep me off my feet
I wait for me to sweep someone off their feet
I need to keep what's left of my heart together
And someone's going to take it
And swing it around
And hold it over the edge of the railing
I just watch because there's nothing I can say or do

And then they drop it

And it shatters
And I run down to pick up as many pieces as I can
It's too late already
Some have already blown away
Everything's in smaller pieces
It's gets more and more painstaking

And the knives
The tiny little knives
I have to pull from my heart
The pieces, actually
They're not knives
They're just blades
And I grab them to pull them out
And I draw blood
Oops
So I don't
I try
But I can't stand the pain
So I leave them

I don't even know what my heart looks like
I haven't even been close to a full heart
Not for a very long time
Well,
I assume,
With all of my needles still stuck into the tiny pieces of my heart
It wouldn't look very good
I don't think I even have enough pieces anymore
There will probably be gaping holes
Mismatched pieces
Strange colors
A lot of little stitch work
Blades through parts of my heart

I need a donor
Somebody with an extra bit of heart
Or a willingness to share theirs
Somebody who I could grow old with
And live young with
Like it or not, if you break someone's heart, you take some of it from them
Willingly?
Not always
But you do
Some people end up with a crazy mismatched heart
None of the pieces are the same color
This piece hardworking
This piece slow
Black
Red
Green
It looks like a nice disco ball
Until you look closer
And you see all the stitches
They're all sewn together
I know how hard it is
I know to look for it
But those who don't still tug
They still tug on their hearts
And they tug a little too hard
You can figure out what comes

Could I have known?
I don't know.
Maybe.
I wish I had.
I could've avoided all of this
Maybe I didn't want to know
Maybe I knew and didn't except it

Could I have known?
I don't know.
It happened
So no reason I'm trying to change it