Of Broken Bones & Heart

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.
A formula that makes it evident that sounds of silence,

Are the same as loud jarring noises on lonely nights.

One that rolls up all the soft tendrils on the edges of the garden

And makes them as comprehensible as the flowers growing within it.

It turns and twists with the sad comedy,

That comes with the undeniable truth that “pain demands to be felt”.

One that sits neatly balancing the sorrow & despair, limitless,

Within this limited world.

One that makes it easy for me to hold large lies in my small hands,

And yet fight with closed fists that cannot be broken open by the toughest machines.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.

A formula that strains into existence the reality that an injury from a wayward branch scrapping your knee

Is just as awful as the desolation that crept up in the cells of my body after my first argument with him.

A formula that equates your agony while eating pizza alone after being fired

With my heartache while having dinner with friends and family after the breakup.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.

A formula tells you & me that the maps our arteries and veins have designed on our bodies

Are the only ones we should truly follow.

One that tells you as much as it tells me 

That there are affable beings and surreal happenings,

Waiting for us on the other side of this brokenness 

That is consuming us one heartbeat at a time.

I like to think that there is a formula for pain,

A formula that balances your broken bones with my broken heart.