The Heart

The heart is a liar.

It is a broken windscreen moving at 360 miles per hour.

It is suicidal.

The heart is agnostic.

It is searching for gods in empty coconut shells.

It likes coconuts.

It thinks love tastes like fresh coconuts on hot summer nights in Cairo.

For the boy that promised me the stars,

they did not shine as bright as you said they would.

Your hands were a conglomerate of scars and at night,

when your body turned into epileptic spasms,

I held you like a rosary.

I prayed that your heart would find forgiveness for her,

that you would heal yourself and make room for me.

The heart used to think it was bullet proof.

It thought it knew all the weapons of mass destruction that existed.

It had travelled the world,

could speak several languages,

knew all that could kill a woman.

The heart thought it was bullet proof,

the heart thought it knew all the weapons that could destroy her.

The heart was wrong.

For the boy who tried to kill himself some years ago,

for the boy who in the midst of making me dinner said,

“i guess we’re happy and shit huh?”:

I never knew there were wars I could never win.

I always thought i’d survive all my battles, come out alive.

There are some wars that can never be won,

there are some wounds that leave scars.

The heart is a survivor now.



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