by Marty McConnell
leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.
“There is love enough in this world for everybody if people will just look.”
-Cat’s Cradle Kurt Vonnegut
Beyond heartbreak, lies soulbreak, which is when you cannot spend time with someone, not because you and them have chosen to part ways, but because they no longer inhabit the Earth.
"I don’t have any deadlines now that I’m writing for myself, but I’m having trouble finishing things. It’s much easier to stop when something is due than to stop when it’s good."
Two of my favorite things, Post Secret and humansofnewyork:
"After my best friend committed suicide, I spent a year answering phones at a suicide prevention hotline. I worked the midnight to 4 AM shift."
“Why did your friend commit suicide?”
“I think like most people who take their own lives, he was just feeling very isolated. He’d just come back from college, was living with his parents, and was in a very bad place. I’ve always felt guilty about my last words to him. I visited him at his parents’ house, and as I was leaving, I told him: ‘This is a bad situation. You’ve got to get out of here.’”
“Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people…
Bruce Springsteen is what home sounds like.