Asmita Todkar Poet Prose

Eating heartbreak for breakfast

I smile, I go out and I show no disdain. In the coldness of my four walls, I bleed out purely again, and again. I trace the depths of what I may have done, for you to retaliate when my hurt was placed on the table. Your heart pounding so loud, you threw words uncertain. Shattering the table into pieces, a splinter in my heart. The blood fills the floor, makes it slippery. You expect me to get up, instead of falling apart. And yet, I fall again. You watch me with a disappointed look on your face. 
So, will you make a mess of me and beg me to stay clean? Worship you, like some deity? Tell me honestly, what bothers me, that you think is wrong. Every frame is from your reality, none for me. Do my words make sense, to a glass half empty person? Or do I feel like a daft imbecile? Does my voice haunt you for a while, when you stop and think of me? Is all this happening, dramatically?
I eat heartbreak for breakfast and I drink the coffee you make, with a dash of poison in it. I take it all with a delighted face, thanking your grace. I step in the sunlight even when it burns my face— your darkness makes me feeble. I faint. You lock me in that room again, feeding me your anger, your rage. I spiral down the stairs of your timidness. Time and time again, you expect me to be brave. You make a mess of me, and you want me to pray.

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Alison A Smith September 1, 2026 at 4:45 AM This is a powerfully raw prose poem. The dense, unlineated form perfectly mirrors the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a toxic dynamic, leaving the reader breathless as the emotion builds. Your imagery is striking—especially the sharp contrast between the domestic act of drinking morning coffee and the visceral horror of a shattered table and a slippery floor. It perfectly captures the exhausting cycle of trying to maintain composure while breaking down internally. Beautifully and heartbr