I learned some anatomy today.
What happens in your stomach when you mess up:
The hot acid of guilt bubbles up
Into the pit of your stomach
And makes it
It twists and turns in a waltz and
Steps on toes and
Loses count and
What happens in your chest when you realize you’ve fallen out of love:
That tight feeling
The rope you’d been
The whole time
Except all of a sudden
There are all these knots and
The more you try to unravel them
The tighter they get
And the rope breaks.
And the love seeps out of the frayed ends.
What happens at the back of your neck when someone you love hurts you:
The hairs on the back of your neck
Become the spines of a cactus
And all of a sudden you’re in the desert
But you’re cold.
And the hot desert sun hits your eyes and they
And don’t stop
Until they’ve run out.
Why your hands get clammy when you’re holding someone else’s:
Your hands don’t understand
That the sweat leaving them
Isn’t glue enough to
Hold them together.
But they try
Because what’s the harm
In a couple of clammy hands
Doing their best?
That ball in your throat when you’re trying not to cry:
It’s filled with all the things that went wrong
Surrounded by all the reasons not to break
And dammed by a wall of frail fear that
Is slowly chipped away as
The ball does its best to squeeze its way out.
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