Heartbreak Isn’t Just for Lovers

All those stupid love songs
playing constantly on the radio
think they have a damn monopoly
on love loss and heart ache.
I don’t need this ridiculous show
put on by an “innocent” actor
who calls himself a man
to teach me the way souls crack.
That guy isn’t the only factor
in my tearful disposition.
Who said he was the dictator
in the fascist hole of my heart?
He wasn’t the only transition
my feeble feet trampled through
in this winding road
to my love-worn heartbreak.
My parents paid for my tattoo
to celebrate the flash into adult,
a scratch of black tinged lines
lasting all through my loss.
But I can’t lay down any fault
for a child’s innocence gone
to terrifying red-brick buildings
and empty lecture halls.
Regardless of the page I’m on
that little girl is a novelty
of the tightly knit twig nest
that broke my heart all the same.
There is no damn monopoly
on the people sized hole
that sits between artery and vein.
Heartbreak isn’t just for lovers.

April

On the first day of April,
I rolled my windows down low.
First day above sixty degrees
and I wasn’t going to waste it.
The obnoxious yellow lines
weren’t allowed to keep me slow.
All the better to feel the breeze,
smell the grass and submit
to the blooming Spring signs.