Weathered

I thought my heart broke this summer,

on the front porch

with your voice on the other side of

the phone but

in order for hearts to break

they must separate into pieces.

I thought I chose which pieces to keep,

but sometimes I get this strange feeling:

if I am as broken as they say,

why do I still feel so connected?

My mother tells me I have a delicate soul,

but I think I’m just perceptive.

After all, if I were as delicate as she claims

I wouldn’t want to go to Africa,

at least not now when looks can kill

and I’m easy enough to break.

In high school,

your hands looked as misguided as mine,

and I thought that meant something.

But too late I learned that

everyone is travelling. And

we all have this vision of somewhere.  

It’s true, what they say:

we all deserve second chances.

Everyone hopes for another opportunity,

and sometimes it’s more painful

not giving a chance

when you’ve received one.  

I have been told who I am

too many times

and the saddest thing is,

I still don’t know

but I cling to this hope that one day

I’ll be the one to find out.