Open

There is an empty jar
in the place of my heart,
with the lid open,
for you to place what you will.
you could plant it with your love,
you could soil it with your pain,
with a cavity so wide,
it shall not fill.

These marks on my skin, are lined paper.
I have left all the pages blank
for you to write our story,
and sign your name.

I am quietly hanging
from a nail, pinned against the wall.
you can hear my tears
hit the wood, as they fall.
my chest is a doorway left wide open,
shelving the jar where my heart had been
hung like an old shirt, left like an old shirt,
Shaking in the wind.

if the rest of my friends disappear,
will i also go?
will i cease to exist
if i am no longer known?

These marks on my skin, are lined paper.
I have left all the pages blank for
you to write our story,
and sign your name.

A broken heart
may not always be in sorrow,
there are cracks in the frame
where the pain can escape.
but give me an open heart,
to make me exposed
to the sadness in joy,
and left reposed.

These marks on my skin
are a picture,
a portrait of us together,
I'm waiting for you
to sign your name.






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