Delayed Punch

Author's note : Hey, I am still talking about you

I hear the sound of my first heartbreak
A year after he did not want to return the kiss on the cheek
Four months after he said he dated a new girl
A month after I discovered he was getting back with his ex
Two days after I drank Grey Goose straight up from the bottle

I let the fire creep and burn my entire gut
But I did not complain
Because it does not compare to the wound he cut three times and I forgave him... always

It was the sound of my own crying on a sunny afternoon against the merry noise of the street I lived
Leaping out of my chest like firecrackers on the side of the bed where he once slept

If the first stab of love is like the sunset, a blaze of colors--oranges, pearly pink and vibrant purples
He gave me red, gold and green

Except, all I have with me now are blood-shot red
oozing out from the crack of the heart I failed to locate

I guess this heartbreak is a delayed punch
that struck me hard on the flesh of my old memory
A bad transmission caught on my satellite
Interrupting all of my functions
It stops me
from constructing new-found joys

Oh, what a shame

I did not choose to heave and bring out the blue
No poetry and words shall seal the damage
But the pain better be launched like a cannonball

So I produced my bow
Stretched the arrows
Pointing to every corner of safety borders I drew
After all the bad news

Out there, behind the shattered wall
There is a new order
A fairy tale
Where I do not have to play the knight in shining armors
Where I do not have to cut my shapes and fit into his triangle
Where I do not have to look for his approvals and answers

... although I still need him to acknowledge my now-far existence
Hoping that there is a little blaze of spectrum I once stabbed on his center
that still lingers
that he is still proud of

I knew it was love

Before he refused to kiss my cheek at the train station
Before he told me that he was staying over at his girlfriend's house
Before he paid a visit to my city when my feeling was mute
Before that time he became a poet of his own
Announcing that he found a woman to walk with, in flowery sentence
Before I took the second chug of the Grey Goose for a healing comfort

After all of that
My deepest, darkest wish still lies
On the single strip of red
Blaring from his Rastafarian flag I tore

How I want to believe
that none of that means anything at all