They said

Be careful, they said:
Don’t give so much of your heart;
What you give of it, they said,
Is never returned. 

They said, I should be aware:
There are takers present 
Who won’t acknowledge 
Your gift in the light of day;
They will wait,
Until even the moon covers her body
To take you. 

Be careful, they said,
The ocean takes from land 
And seems to love her;
But all he does 
Is cover what she has
And longs to cover the rest. 

Be wise, they said,
All who profess love
Do not mean what they say,
Or do not understand what they mean. 
Do not trust much, if at all,
Even love comes with a price. 

Be ready, they said,
You will need your tears and pain
As collateral for the kisses
You received and the joy you used. 

Be careful, they said.

But I forgot. 

And, when I stood alone 
In my foolishness, 
Stripped clean of pride,
And left with small change, 
At the edge of the ocean,
Under a barren moon,
I remembered all they said. 

They Warn Me

They warn me I speak too much of my heart:
I am too vocal about what I think:
I mention every thought right at its start:
Way before the mind and heart form a link.
They say I am too childlike and confess
All that I know; let my truth rule my voice;
And let my conscience turn its duress,
On certainties, both traumatic and nice.

I know not what power compels me so,
To hone neither tact nor diplomacy;
I love, I laugh, I cry, I feel, I show –
I may do it all quite complacently.
No burden of regret makes me believe;
I go on wearing my heart on my sleeve

Broken

I’m broken.
People come,
Stick me back,
I help with the glue.
But the glue has no strength.
A tiny wisp of wind
Is all it takes.
It brushes past
And all of me breaks.
I’m tired of breaking.
I wish I was a fortress
Lasting millennia.
Or a wall
That keeps people in place.
Or sand that knows
No great weather.
But I’m not.
I depend.
Ironic.
It breaks me.
The pieces get difficult
To find.
It hurts to break.
But
Even when broken
No one
Casts me away.
No one
Wants me gone.
Maybe they like
The challenge
Of putting me back
Together.
Maybe they like
Seeing me
… broken.
Maybe I’m words
Meant to be
Spoken
Into
Breeze.
Maybe they wish
To see how much
I can take.
How far I last
How small I can break.
But, you see,
No matter how much
I am glued back,
I am broken.
Swaying in the breeze,
Counting on words
Not yet spoken.