the mess you leftMature

Sometimes I turn on the Wallflowers and think about all the loves 
I’ll never meet in this life and I wonder if they are aware of me
the way I am so achingly aware of them.  Do people always want most 
the things they cannot have or is it just some misfiring synapse, 
some malfunction, in me?
Lately I’ve been digging my fingers into soil instead of my own skin
but I’m not sure it’s helping, I’m not sure I’ll ever dig myself out again.
They say our energy is all around us, that we are redisbursed,
but I don’t feel all the people I’ve lost when I bury myself elbow deep
in the dirt and pray for rain.  I don’t feel them when the sun warms me,
or when my roots stretch wild.
I think we believe the things we need to believe to convince ourselves
there’s something to get broken for, something worth the hassle of
all this tireless breathing and beating and healing and growing.
I’ve learned that sometimes you need to re-break bones
for them to be reset.  I think of these loves when I break my ribs, 
hoping to clean up the mess you left in this cavity I’ve become.

The End

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