It had been over a month
And I hadn’t written anything
Or otherwise legible
No love poems
Or hate poems
Or poems about my brokenness
Instead I wrote texts
And fun facts
And stories about two lovers in the 1940’s
I don’t know what happened in my mind to lead me down these roads
I just know I wasn’t writing poems anymore.
But today I got up
I took a shower
Combed my hair to the side
Like I always do
And I looked in the mirror
I saw the acne scars they said would go away
Thought of the mental scars that will never go away
And felt the supple skin where the scars have since faded away.
Is my body just a museum of scars?
I thought to myself
My first poetic thought in weeks
I suppose I should write that down
But some scars fade away
Some scars don’t last forever
Like the scars you left on my heart
Left behind when you ripped out my lungs
A surgical procedure to take my breath away
Like the first time you kissed me
Like the first time we danced in your kitchen
Like the first time you said you would never love me.
I am healing you see
At my own pace
In my own home
Perhaps there is a mathematical formula
A predictor for how long it takes to mend a broken heart.
Or perhaps some wounds were never meant to fully heal.
But I haven’t written about you in over a month
Your name has made its way to my mind less and less
It took 5 months for me to finally let go of your grip on this body
Perhaps 5 months is the expiration date for your grip on my heart.
I wasted 10 months of my life thinking about you.
10 months I could have been laughing because of you.
Instead of writing because of you
I wrote a poem to you once and said it was the last
The final poem I would write for you
Or about you
And I knew it was a lie
But I wrote it anyway
Perhaps this time it will be different
But I somehow doubt it.
I am healing bit by bit, piece by piece
And I don’t need your sympathy
I don’t need your alligator tears
I’m a survivor
I survived the war it took to exist
The fight it took to get to this city
And I don’t plan to surrender to a broken heart
She is just a muscle you see
And she grows stronger everyday
With every pump or pulse
It’s ok to hurt your muscles sometimes
To strain the fabric of their structures
To break a heart or any muscle
If you have to
In fact you do have to
If you ever want to let them grow.