How many more breaks can a heart take,
before it is unable to remain intact?
How many more scars can form,
before all that’s left is a completely hardened surface?
How many more chances can it give,
before it has given up its last life?
You disintegrate me
but I always come back, healed like patchwork.
The scar tissue is tight—holding it all together for dear life.
We’ve created this ragged homemade quilt.
It smells of you and keeps me warm
as my soul freezes into its winter cycle.
This must be the journey of the heart:
a cyclical storyline of breaking and mending from all the interactions of love in a lifetime.
I’m constantly in a state of forgiveness or shame,
dealing with the queue of mis-takes that consume my heart space.
It’d be a weight off my chest just to befriend this familiar lifecycle
as an orbiting trickster, teacher, or demon.
Because I weigh so heavily of you.
This mystical friendship,
this psychic connection…
I hope to not burden you with this too,
on top of everything else I dumped on your life.
You are a muse that now lives inside
against my will or better judgement,
but I can’t seem to want it any other way.
You have permanently imprinted in me.
The stronger I feel you, the farther you are.
Somewhere in the ethers, this makes more sense then it does here.
Last time I saw you,
you looked dim…
A nearly-dead fire,
with a brittle voice.
You looked so worn down
from missing a connection to Spirit
and to your inner power.
Oh how I want to support that journey inward,
but all I think I’ve actually been is in your way.
it’s too cloudy to see you in the stars tonight.