Bleeding Hearts


There’s a bleeding heart in the garden; how appropriate.
All my lines are crossed, wishing to eliminate the permanent marks you’ve engraved upon my stone.

Juvenile, naive, yet everything is crystal.
Wish I didn’t want to, wish I wasn’t willing to wait for your outcomes.

I don’t know where my lines got crossed,
I don’t know where I fell off.

Bleeding hearts shimmy in the sunlight—
I didn’t know what they were until you told me;
How coincidental, how cliche,
how poetic.

My resentment is in these words,
I’m irrational, but I’m not so naive— I’ll trust again
but gingerly; I’ll love again, I’m just not sure when.
And I’ll apologize for all the things I’ve left unsaid,
for those are all the sinful things that count.

Ah, a testament, at its worst.
There’s a bleeding heart in the garden; how appropriate.

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