My Heart is Broken

My Heart is Broken

My heart is broken, that’s what it comes down to.
And, as if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should no longer
walk with a limp.

But my heart is broken. And no one helped me cast it,
I was sent to lift more loads while it still burst at the seams.

As if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should be able
to hike Yosemite.

But my heart is broken. And as with every broken heart,
all are at fault, and all wish someone would stitch it up,
take it to a better time, rewind the emotional health trap,
swath the mental health, retest the spinal tap, and give me the
CPR to replace the spirit that flew out the hole left in my heart.

As if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should be dancing
like I had never quit.

But my heart is broken. Again. And I just don’t feel like dancing.
Broken hearts never heal in isolation, but ICU was the only room available.

As if I had broken my leg, I would be outpatient and 5 year later
racing to the coffee shop to people-watch with my best friend.

But my heart is broken. I wake after a good day to darkness.
I close my eyes and the good flies from my consciousness only to
have the movie of former times, I mean 20 years ago times, play
in grainy resolution.

As if I had broken my leg, my appetite would be unaffected,
my smile unforced, and the laughs natural walking down the pavement
on a warm spring morning.

But my heart is broken and spring feels like winter, winter never ends
and friends are better than my busted heart believes. But it was busted
by friends and my wasted allegiances, my unwise camaraderies, my
dance with those unlikely to return the favors.

As if I had broken my leg, I would not cry here, 5 years later.

But my heart is broken and the tears still do not stop coming.