Wanting to be whole again.

When he had promised me forever,

I knew he was lying.

I had wanted to believe him though.

I wasn’t naive.

It wasn’t my first love.

He wasn’t my teenage happily ever after.

I had had a broken heart for far too long.

I had just wanted it to be whole again.

Just for a little while.


My Doom.

They say you sense doom from far, far away.

I hadn’t.

I hadn’t seen the destruction.

I hadn’t heard the heartbreaking wails.

I hadn’t smelled the stench of unending hurt.

I hadn’t tasted the salt in the tears.

I hadn’t moved the vessel of my being,

Lying like a corpse at his feet.

I hadn’t backed away from my doom.

I hadn’t sensed.


My First Heartbreak.

They often asked me

If I’d known from the beginning

I’d end up with a mess of a heart.

I smile.

I can’t tell them I’d known

When my eyes had first connected

With his amethyst ones

Across the room

That he’ll be my destruction.

He had smiled that crooked smile

And I’d experienced

My first heartbreak.


The unnecessary Debris.

When he had walked inside,

He had bled.

The broken pieces of my heart

Had been scattered everywhere.

He had cleaned the wounds,

His and mine.

And then, he had settled in

With a curtain on the broken window

And the cardboard boxes strewn around.

Some to be unpacked.

Others, empty,

With a promise to dispose off

The unnecessary debris.


Bringing her words to life.

Alienating her heart

From the rest of her

Being hadn’t been

The easiest thing.

She was her heart.

Her poems were a

Part of her soul

And without the

Touch of the

Messed up muscle

All they reeked of

Was defeat.

She needed her heart

To bring her words

To life.


Not ready to Move On.

Angry with

The past and

All its spoils

She kept pushing

It away.

She wasn’t ready

For the bone-deep

Hurt to engulf


She wasn’t ready

For the gloating.

She wasn’t ready.

She wasn’t sure

She would ever

Be ready.