Your heart is a preacher on a street corner in New Orleans, telling the choir about dreams and love while a raptured audience drinks it all in. My heart is a young runaway sitting on a curbside waiting for a bus to take it far away that has been running late for the past eighteen years.
I just can't manage to tell my heart that bus is probably never coming.
You write love poems with a pen while she write love poems with another boys lips and you can't manage to stop your heart from loving her despite all she has done to you. I write soul poems with the blood from my veins and try to convince myself that maybe I am making a difference, when all I am doing is losing too much of myself.
I wish I could get some of my blood back but I'm afraid it's gone for good.
You are afraid of death but you could hate him if you wanted; he has stolen something from you that should never be taken, that isn't fair in the slightest. I am infatuated with death but I am in love with life and you never understood how I could give my heart to two things at once.
My heart has been bisected and split apart since the day I learned I was named after a flower.
You don't know how to believe in God anymore ever since the day you cried so hard, you stole tears from the sky and not even the sun knew how to shine. I have been believing in God since the day he told me it was okay to be scared, that sometimes even he is afraid but despite his fear he will always be there.
I believe God has stage fright because some people can't appreciate a miracle when they see one.
Your body has been asking for years for you to let it rest, begging and pleading with you to give it the silence it craves after all that noise. My body keeps telling me that no matter how weary I am, it can keep going and it will continue taking beatings for my soul so I don't have to suffer so much.
I would give your body the strength to protect your soul a little longer if you would let me.
You have the sweetest most broken smile in the world and it will continue to break hearts each time your lips whisper the secrets behind it and your eyes. I have hair that is almost as coarse and unmanageable as myself, that only knows how to give kisses to the wind and doesn't quite know how to give love to the right person.
It gave love to you when you were wrong and now we are dead but not in the ways we wanted.
Sincerely,
xx
Blue
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