• Hearts and Holes

    I remember when I was six, had just started school
    dressed in a little, blue dress, red ribbons in my hair

    You were sitting at the bench, just outside the playground
    looking sullen and silent
    with eyes so black and green
    and knowing
    for someone who was only six

    .
    At eight I carved my first heart
    into that very same bench
    where we met
    and told you, "look, it's yours"
    You stared, then told me it was wrong
    and carved two holes
    right in the middle

    I didn't understand it then

    .
    I was only ten when my heart first broke
    at the hands of someone I'd trusted
    too much
    to keep it safe from harm
    and you told me
    with those black, glassy eyes
    that it was my own fault
    for letting it happen

    I was only ten and couldn't understand

    .
    At fourteen we were sneaking out
    at night to smoke and dance and drink
    and when I laughed you told me
    to "shut up" or
    you'd go to someone else
    a lie among many others, which I knew
    but shut my mouth
    and threw my arm over your chest instead

    .
    I was only sixteen when I learnt
    what betrayal meant
    by the harsh, cold hands that
    touched and grasped and pinched
    despite my kicks
    and punches

    I slowly came to understand

    .
    The heart on the bench had faded
    thin lines of age and forgotten things
    You looked at me then, black holes for eyes
    and carved a second heart
    right next to the first
    and told me "see, it's yours. Do you understand?"
    It's wrong, I told you, trying to smile
    through tears
    and carved two holes
    right in the middle

    so that it matched yours