Maple

The bottom of the maple tree 

suited my purposes, so I 

dug down with my bare hands 

until I uncovered the roots. 

I took the tin box filled to the

brim with you, and stuck it 

between those mighty veins. 

The dried blushing roses, 

the letters and the poems, 

and even your marbled heart

arranged between the tissues

that dried all the tears you 

gave me, buried in the ground. 

And there my love can grow, 

warped in the roots of that big 

maple tree, rather than inside of 

a heart that can no longer 

sustain life. The only evidence 

left behind is the black dirt 

on my hands from covering 

it up. 

You no longer deserve

the cries of my heart. 

Shrapnel

Cradled by fists
rather than palms,
wide open to hold
my little red heart,
your love only a tool
used to silence a crying child
used at the right moments,
used, just like me.

Fishing wire and tackle
litter my memory of you.
Kodak memories
shoved into a dismal childhood
making a minefield
out of my head,
knowing that at any moment
my innocence could become shrapnel.

I excuse you,
rationalize for you,
stay silent for you,
let your actions speak for you,
and you ignore me,
forget that you know me,
stop from loving me,
and, like a coward, blame me.

If you never touch me again,
it'll be too soon.

RSVP

You look like
              someone just shot your puppy,
with eyes that are sad and droopy
              and your movements that seem so pained.

You're not angry yet
              but something tells me you will be.
Sooner or later, anger just becomes easy;
              easier than holding on, easier than letting go.

Tell me what it feels like
              to douse your heart in so much emotion,
that all you can do is walk around apathetic
              because to feel would be too much for you to handle.

You know,
             for someone as smart as you seem to be
you're really thick sometimes,
             because the only one you have to blame
is yourself.