The last piece

I took a long drag of my last cigarette and blew smoke towards the moon,

a single tear fell upon my cheek.

Tilting my head upward I screamed, pleading with the stars to tell me why this pain had formed in the pit of my chest. 

So many unanswered questions sat in the depths of my mind begging to be answered by some unknown force.

I began to realize that no matter how much you adore someone, being hurt by them is seemingly inevitable.

Once you fall in love you have let yourself become utterly vulnerable.

You have opened up your heart and allowed a beloved stranger to reach inside and explore its dustiest corners. 

Crazy, it seems that we give a part of ourselves to someone, a part that can never truly be returned. 

Each time we cut off a small piece of our heart and allow it to be taken, we accept that it will disappear forever; 

never to be seen again. 

I had wondered what would happen if I gave away my last piece..

I had wrapped mine in a delicate linen cloth and held it together with a light blue ribbon.

With a shy smile on my face I gave my last piece to a man who in return could not give me a piece of himself,

I'm still trying to figure out how to get it back.

Reviews

[SuperChick62]

You have some good imagery in this one and I like the metaphor of the pieces of the heart. It is a lot like that, giving away small bits of yourself and praying for them to be returned in kind.

That being said, there are a couple of small issues with this piece.
*The second line. It sounds dramatic, but it's cliche and extremely unlikely. From my experience people either cry or don't. If your so sad that one tear escapes than several will. The only time I've seen it happen is through allergies and the tear ducts water up from dry eyes. I agree with the sentiment, but it'll probably sound better if you just told the truth. How you REALLY reacted. Did you really cry one tear? Did you cry at all? People want to see you in your poetry, be honest. It won't sound as bad as you think it does in your head. Trust I went through a phase where everything I wrote was so vague you couldn't even tell what I was writing about. Took a lot to outgrow that, too.

* The first line seems a bit weird with the third. Smoking a cigarette is usually a calming act, done after the screaming. One generally doesn't just start screaming while smoking, if nothing it else, it might burn them.

* I really like the last line, it's simple and good way to end the poem. To me, that's my favorite line. That line, to me, tells the whole story. That's the honest bit. The truly personal this is what I'm left with and I just want it back. But you can't, because it's gone. When love is lost it is lost forever, and the only thing left to do if find new love.

Good write
M. Super