Dear Poets, Lovers, and Other Sentimental Fools

I don’t want to hear about your broken heart
I have my own broken pieces to contend with

I’m bleeding out over here!

If I were a tree or
better yet
a flower
would that make my suffering
in par with others?

Of the earth
from the earth,
you will say

But the mountains would still dwarf me

So I can’t compete!
and I can’t win
so let me shout it –

But my voice gets lost in the howling winds
and I’ve forgotten how to cry

So I must periodically visit the ocean
to purge my eyes in the salt water

The ocean has promised
to drown me one of these days

But only if I’m nice
and I’m never nice!

Nor do I smile
and I could never dance

So I only sing

With the voice that sounds like a dying animal

So I won’t sing
and I won’t talk

Not of love
nor of the heart

And we shall agree
upon that, a

Small moratorium of
contentment

To never speak
of the heart again

– A. Ramirez

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