poetry, Uncategorized

Pressed Daisy

I can’t take deep breaths. I can’t feel too alive. I can’t think of beautiful things. And I can’t hold on to the memory of your passing hand or the warmth of your lips. I wear your words as armor, but my body is too frail and my heart is fickle, so I can’t quite fit into your love.

When your voice breathes life into it, when it takes form between the roof of your mouth and the tip of your tongue, I almost believe in the reasons to keep living. I begged you not to give me your heart because I can barely hold onto mine. I can’t help but feel some twisted fascination when it breaks, so it happens again and again and I’m watching and I’m transfixed. It shatters into dozens, and I offer you the pieces I can find. Pathetic shards. But, you remind me what it feels like to be whole and your gravity keeps me from falling out of orbit, far away from the edge of reason.

I don’t want to be fixed. Just hold the fragments, and I’ll love you by trying to piece them back together myself.

3 thoughts on “Pressed Daisy”

  1. I haven’t been blogging for a while but really needed to catch up on some WP reading. I love your heart wrenching colouring… that last paragraph… I feel I’m at the start and the end of a novel.

    Liked by 1 person

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