Mary Beth

Tissue paper heart. Tied with a thread with rocks inside--like an April fools gift. Set on the closet shelf where it's cool and no one needs it. Her hands work fast, so her mind can sleep. She can't decide if she likes to cry, anymore. Laughing sloughs off the bitter calluses, but only for a bit. Bitterness is a sneaky joke. It can skip through the smallest crack.

Oh my dear,
oh Mary Beth
you let him steal your yellow dress,
and now you fight to fall asleep
with a tissue paper heart
pebbles rattle where love one filled
you collected rocks when you were ill
to drop inside your drying well
in an attempt
to raise the
level of love
words are empty and silence deep
when you chose to live alone

Weakness is the devil. That's what she's been told, or she thought she heard. That is why it is dangerous to cry. That is why people aren't to be trusted. That is why love is not allowed.

If you put your heart to test,
you'd finally see the adulterer's dress
that you put on when it's pride you sip
and you worship yourself in the mirror

It is not that Love has turned His back. There are countless deaths died every moment without Him. She chooses to be unattainable. Fear of hurt erases all possibilities of allowing acceptance. Like the bleach that tarnishes her silver rings as she washes dishes, bitterness erodes a once-vibrant love.

It is the choice of life or death
to forgive your pain, Mary Beth
the echoes in your coughing heart
are the hints of love
torn apart
when you allowed yourself
to feast on flesh
and forgot to seek your Love

She has waved two banners for so long. She has grown fond of fighting on opposite sides, and eluding the sting of correction, but exhaustion is the consequence of deception and death the lot of the deceiver, unless she chooses to let go.

Gentle is the breeze that sighs
on a secret field masked with rye
your head relaxes on the chest
of the One Who loves you most
his kisses on your lips are tame
and you can love with passion
and have no shame
for your eyes are on His burning gaze
and he has changed your name

Now. Now there is peace. Unquenchable fire laps up the memory of a tissue paper heart and leaves it white-hot gold.