head v. heart

Not the first time you’ve answered this way
conveniently clear, yet cutting me so.
I am blessed to be broken.
Vocalizing desire denotes vulnerability
even if it’s only inside.
My heart whispers through my eyes.
My smile spills secrets to anyone who really knows me,
at least.

Ears ringing with the raised voices of head v. heart –
even when two strikes are called by the umpire of ultimatums
the upcoming pitch holds so much hope I can’t help but blur my convictions.
Home run takes on whole new connotations,
the potential of building a home, with you.
Serendipity becomes Providence in my imagination.
I can make a reason for most anyone my heart fancies, a book of reasons
why we’re meant to be.
Yet here again I see that as soon as I unearth the chest of treasured dreams,
I find it empty. Someone else was here before me.
Ashamed of my feelings, tears stinging the very eyes that betrayed me,
pulling down the corners of that once-shouting smile.
Well, this is what I prayed for, intervention.
I just wish I didn’t always end up
alone.

Broken hearts trump other tragedies, no matter the magnitude.
And when it really comes down to it, I just want to
read, write,
teach, learn,
give, grow,
travel, abide,
make music, and fall in love, reciprocally.
Is that too much to ask?
Not here, you say, not now.
But where, I ask, and when?

Silence.

It’s a fucking mess.
But the Spirit still hovers over the chaotic waters of my soul.