Discarded Heart

Chimera Poetry

If you had asked for my heart I may have thought about giving it to you on a trial basis
but you never did
and the wanting you to grew until I was offering it at every opportunity
without words
 with words 
in the songs I listened to
 with my eyes
because the more you didn’t ask the more I wanted you to have it
but promises never made are delivered already broken
 and my discarded heart
slumped on to the floor
and an ocean moved inside me rising through the cracks
I watched you when you didn’t notice and tried to read your face
as if it were a manual and spent the night plotting
and the days planning
what argument would win you
how to daub your eyes to make the scales fall away
until one day I tired of my own inventions
my own conversations
and watched…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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