A place for prayer.
Published on May 2, 2007 By Hazel Target In Poetry
I think I'm finally sick
of the heart being broken
or maybe I've just realized
that the "heart" is just a token

(if it really was a heart,
honey, there's no second breaking;
if it happens twice that means
that the first time you were faking)

and I know it hurts
(hell yeah it does)
I know it blows
(the hell you do)
but hell, with broken organs
that is, well, the way it goes

so bite the bullet--bite it hard
and close your eyes, we'll yank it quick
(bit the bullet, bite it hard,
close your eyes, yank it quick)

and damn! Now you feel the rush:
the heart? We didn't break the skin.
Your pain is worth its weight in gold
(to you: to us, its weight in tin).

Oh how we overvalue hurt
though not the heart, misunderstood
for once the heart is broken once
my friend, it is in two for good.

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