Poetic metaphors

There are not enough poetic metaphors to describe how fucked up my heart is,
The sound of it fluttering sounds more like glass shattering,
My heart, once as expansive as the Great Plains,
Has been burned down by wildfire
Truth be told I am the kind of person so scared to experience the extent of my own emotions,
That I would rather run away to the other side of the world, than to splinter under the weight of my own loneliness,
I’ve gotten into the habit of chewing on thumb tacks,
I guess I take my oral fixation with sharp words seriously.
I know no one asked for another fucking love poem, and this isn’t one,
This is more like the sinking heaviness below your throat when someone really disappoints you for the first time.
Because see, everyone knows what wet pavement sounds like,
And everyone knows what it feels like to choke down the stab of their own tears,
No this isn’t a love poem, this is me laughing at how I became the punchline to a joke 24 years in the making.
I’m so bad at math that I don’t know how to count my own blessings,
And I’m so disillusioned by my privilege that I feel the need to prove I am more than the total number of bullet points on my resume.
I want so fucking badly to be someone worthwhile,
But I don’t even know how to be the best version of myself.
When I’m feeling lost enough I can confuse the ashe from my cigarettes for stardust, I like to pretend that I’m just a piece of rock hurdling through the nothingness of the universe,
I don’t believe in God anymore but I wonder about the weight of my soul, and where it will go after I die?
But until then, I continue tracing with my fingertips the cigarette burns I left on my heart, and continue writing secret notes on the dusty windows of dirty cars
I admire the the sparkling sheen of my own expanding emptiness, and I wonder: Will I ever truly love myself the way that I deserve?

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