I let a stranger paint my heart
with swallows and roses.
He threaded the needle so delicately,
but his gentle touch
could not stop my crimson blood's flow.
It oozed out of the new wounds
tainting the shades of blue and green
in the wings of the bird,
outstretched and free.
I made my heart beautiful again,
like was once upon a time.
It's not quite fixed,
and I don't think it ever will be.
But the cracks and battle wounds
are gone now.
I don't wear my sorrow so sadly anymore,
I hid those memories with images
that let me forget.
At least
on the outside
I don't look
so
b r o k e n.
-2010
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