may

also a tough time. i am a wee bit melodramatic it seems

May was the troubled month
When all that I have suffocated in my bosom
Resurged and clawed its way out of my fallow ribcage
To escape out the unlocked door of that terrible organ they call a heart.

I was not ready for this, for all the blue roses printed on my lacy blouse
Or the pictures across the screen that made the well inside me spill over.
No, I was not ready to want the man, though faceless and gossamer
That I could hold and be held in the hands.

No, I must not go to that place where the white roses grow
Because in that place the suffocated breathes
And that terrible organ is torn open by the briars.
I must not go to the place where the irises fade.

I have so much but I feel it so little,
Here in this square of white walled space.
The window is open and the morning comes through with the birds all singing
And I listen not to you, but only to the false blue flowers scrolled across an antique page.

I have been there before, to the place of thorns and roses
But now I dare not speak the word like that.
Not that word, for it is irrevocable
And false, when you are the only one that is true.

Woodruff grows in the spaces between the rocks
Near the pathway into the riotous garden.
Walk with me there and bandage me, my beloved
When my breastbone is split and the organ torn out by the thorns.

Author's Note

this is very old haha