Heartbreak

Heartbreak comes in all forms.

It shines on you like a rainbow of pink unicorns and purple confetti,

till your hues turn psychedelic in its rays,

that sells your soul as a precious merchandise.

It is the first finger you hold,

when you come crying happiness into this world and the last tear you shed

when you turn into dust of regrets.

It is the hazel sunlight that shines,

of tingly promises and galloping butterflies,

on your skin that turns crimson for every hot

chocolate you are offered,

after you wear a warm fuzzy sweater and make

a beeline for your closest convenience store.

It is the book that you always wanted to order,

the book that got gifted to you

by a thoughtful friend,

the book that smelled of

your favourite cinnamon stick;

covered by your cloak of lavender cologne.

It is the book whose every crevice has a coffee

stain memory burnt into it,

the book that you cherish with all your heart, trying, but failing miserably from keeping it clean from your misery.

Heartbreak definitely comes in all forms.

It is not only the hands,

with dandelion pressure that used to roam

in your messy hazelnut curls scented of

illusions and hallucinations,

until it made them a mess that you loved,

a mess that was a mystery

not waiting to be solved.

It is also the hug, the embrace,

that spread its prismatic wings of protection

and wrapped it around you in a split second,

that you used to get from your mother,

that smelled something between a mix

of her love and hard-work.

It is also the laughter you shared

with a friend over some video-games.

It is the arguments you had with your sibling,

made over decorating cookie jars with figs or

flowers and changing tv channels,

until one of you won the debate and spilled

secrets of catharsis and repression.

Because heartbreak comes in all forms.

So protect that tiny thing

buried inside your ribcage,

protect it so that the arteries don't burst

from all the rocket expectations you laid on it,

the expectations of bruised kneecaps

filled with dirt of humiliation.

Make sure the veins stay safe,

that it doesn't get overflowed with

all the assurances that only you

could provide yourself,

because you aren't a tissue from a posh shop,

that could be used and thrown away.

This was for day 16– rocket. But, I tried a different peom style this time and the incorporation of memorable imagery. I have no clue if I succeded or failed royally, but I hope you enjoyed reading it :heart:

#review

#prosaicwhisperer