painted

I used to spend hours trying to draw the perfect, atomically correct heart.

Measuring every hemisphere with the tips  of my fingers.

But I could never get it right, because every heart is extremely unique. 

Extremely Different.

Your chest is like an empty canvas

And You are painting your heart beat onto an abandoned master piece.

little by little, creating a heart of your own.

Letting others paint some of it for you, because you can't do it on your own.

Some people leave strokes of beauty

others leave streaks of pain.

I'm in my garage drinking a cherry coke with the word REGRET written across my forehead

I sit here hoping you will come back

and finish the painting you started 

and I can finish mine

but I think you found a new artist to paint your heart

someone with a steadier hand.

And I'm sorry for the mess

 my hands have never been able to paint fast enough to keep up with my mind.

It's always been a little disconnected.

Someone once told me my heart was a beautifully painted storm. 

But he was afraid of the thunder. 

Swirls of black and blue turn into something I carry between my rib cage and something that pounds with my lungs. 

Breathing out paint chips with pain and with love. 

You have burns all over your lungs and your heart, you told me it's because you have been to hell, twice.

But I think it's just because you like to play with fire. 

we all just want to paint as many hearts as we can.

And we want someone to fall in love with our masterpiece.

We want our artwork to be admired.

like it should.

Our hearts may be missing some pieces,

but we're still okay. still beating.

Our hearts are like ripped jeans and pocket tees. 

Like cold coffee. 

There is paint stained on all my clothes and my hands

And it probably won't wash off for days 

but I love it because it is my art.

Because It is my heart.