His Half a Heart
When he blew into my life,
I was a flower, just starting to bloom.
With high velocity,
he tried to uproot me from solid ground.
I gave him my heart
but all the while - I was thirsting, thirsting. . .
for even half the consideration
I displayed for him
to be returned somehow to me.
But it seems my whirlwind romance
was all inside my pretty little head,
for it certainly was not the reality of what we really had.
Yet, OH! How very real it was to me.
Poetry flowed through me,
and I learned this was my way
of nourishing my soul, allowing me to cope.
With the outpouring of my emotions into poetry
I could put my disappointments onto paper,
release my anguish into something more concrete!
Words became my anchor; for in the words of my poems
I ultimately found my clarity.
Through the outpouring of my soul,
I would sometimes excuse his thoughtlessness.
The desire was in his eyes, but his actions belied it.
I would ask myself how he could not return to me
that same-felt love he had to be seeing in my eyes.
And for a time,
I took from him
any ray of sun that he chanced to shine on me
with his smile.
That is. . .until the day I saw him
with his wife.
Later, I pressed him and he confessed it all.
How yes, he had a wife. He’d simply never told me.
All those times he passed near me
like a warm breeze wafting into my day,
all those times he flirted so outrageously
yet not wanting to take me out into the open.
It all made perfect sense now.
I wilted
and yet,
I was thankful I had never let
him pluck me up,
as romantic as it might have been.
I learned in time
that his half a heart was,
in fact, a half
of nothing.
Written 1/11/2016
For the "Any Poem Not For A Contest, Ever" Poetry Contest of Broken Wings
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