Open Wound

My heart is like a bucket
Constantly filling with murky water
Hanging heavy in my chest.
And there’s no way to empty it.
The grief pours in and
sloshes back and forth.
The bucket swings and
slams against my sternum,
Scarring my insides,
Screaming for release.
There is little relief.

If I’m going to write about you,
like really write about you-
Your heart and
The way you lived
Then, I’m going to have to go swimming
in that bucket of pain.
I’m going to have to dive
into the fleshy parts of your existence
Fish out the memories of your face
And drain out the story
Of us.
And then-
And then, it’s going to really hurt.