Heart-Shaped Shell

More from Mark Tulin at Crow On The Wire.

I’ll find you a heart-shaped shell,

put it to your ear and you can listen

to the rush of my breath.

With each pulsing wave

we’ll get closer.

The bigger the curl,

the louder the echo.

I’ll take you out

past the surf,

past the buoy

that nods its head

to lift us up.

We’ll paddle out to sea

and together we’ll float

in the rhythm and dance

of our heart-shaped devotion.

Crutch

I tell myself I’m that independent girl

who has her own shoulder to cry on

who doesn’t need anyone but herself,

I should be after what happened the last time

but I’m lying to myself because

sometimes I just need a crutch, someone to lean on,

when my bones are broken and

I can’t see with the blood in my eyes

but it’s hard for me to trust anyone

Last time I did,

I ended up with a mouth full of gravel,

more bloody body parts than I started off with

and a heart that was dripping tears and desperation

But when you look into my grey eyes

and you see a tempest, not forgotten hopes,

you see storm clouds that bear thunder, not the smoke that drifts away

I want to try all over again,

So let me take your hand,

don’t injure me so that I am forced to

After all

You can only break someone so many times

until they never heal again

You can only push me to the ground so many times

until I never get up again.

 


Originally published on my blog, please do go and check it out. If you enjoyed reading the poem like and please share with friends and family wherever you think appropriate.

Store Away My Smiles

I’m going to paint my walls black

Store away all my smiles

In a box labelled never to be opened

I’ll put away my summer dresses

And sell away all my good memories

I can’t be happy again, I won’t be happy again

knowing that your face will never turn up in a smile

I’m too scared that my happiness

Will erase the picture of you in my mind

And I can’t bear that, I won’t.

 


Go check out my blog for more poems like this, please do like if you enjoyed reading the poem.

woke

Originally posted on my website, Hands In the Garden. Come visit!

woke

seems decades
spent
asleep-

lucid time’s
become the
nightmare
nap.

trapped-

cower to
realities,

day’s flaming
demands-

scabbed hands
shield
eyes

that deny
these moments,
damned.

vanishing into
void
of avoidance-

sleep.

© Anthony Gorman 2018