In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
hide it in sunsets,
pour it into inken words.
Then I gift it to the people I love.
I keep my heart in the attic,
but I always leave bits of it in my art –
so my loved ones always have a piece.
Posted in response to the challenge Studio.
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
When I looked at you I saw-
decades of pain and sorrow
I tried to hold you close
but you pushed me away
I dreamed and yearned for you
to find your peace
But it wasn't til he called you back
to that horrid place
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