[poetry] for the empty heart

when your heart is empty
is as broken as
that one fine china plate you dropped in the antique store last month
the one where someone said

“it’s okay, i’ve got it”

when your soul is empty
covered by the kind of heavy winter sweater
that stifles
itching with some vague and persistent discomfort
where all you feel
is the inside of your skin
the veins and arteries and blood and sinew
and bone and muscle and fat
when you feel those then yes
this is how the world feels

all it wants
is to get rid of that sweater
is to have someone clean up the broken plate
to say “it’s okay, i’ve got it”
is to trust
is to love
is to fill itself again
is to stitch itself together again
is to not hurt
for once