I Hate It That You Have My Heart
I hate it that you have my heart.
Wrapped around your finger like a string lest you forget,
but you always do,
dragging me along carelessly on a
lengthy leash like an unwanted dog who was once
a Christmas puppy,
or like a flower……yes like a flower, a flower
that’s left in the dark, a flower you often forget to water
a flower neglected, left dying for weeks, months, and then once death
seems imminent, is brought vibrantly back to life by your few drops of “love” and
your sparing rays of attention.
How much growth and how much beauty does this flower
possess? Will we ever know my love?
I love you, but I hate that you know that.
I hate that you know my heart produces
deathless love for you,
I hate that you know I can never turn the page,
finish the book,
I hate it that the flower, while barely alive and dying,
will never die.
Written in Texas -JAN 2012
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