How to succeed in heartbreak without really trying.
First, do nothing.
Become one with your couch eating
whole stacks of Oreos like leaning towers of feelings.
Watch Jane Austen’s adaptations until your eyes become raisins. Relish in Colin Firth emerging from the lake in a white shirt.
If you must do something, drink, but keep it classy.
Put your cheap wine in a glass, you aren’t a pirate.
Talk to yourself.
Talk to yourself in the mirror, on public transportation,
in the middle of the fountain at the mall.
Because there are things you never got to say
and you don’t have to swallow them.
Join Tinder, make your profile picture a model and talk to no one.
Just keep swiping until you got carpal tunnel,
that way you can reject 50 people a minute
and it feels like killing ants with abs.
Kiss as many people as you need
to get the stamp of his lips off of your brain.
Go to museums, realize other things have history too.
Play hide and go seek with your REM cycle.
We’re are not sure which worse to wake up from:
the nightmares about your sides are splitting open
or the dreams about him holding your jaw
like it meant something to him.
You might as well tape your eyelids to your forehead
because at least you could lie to yourself while you’re awake.
Stay up until 3, 3:30, 4. Brew tea with the bags under your eyes.
Write. Write until you lose every metaphor in your library
you start using the same one over and over, because
there’s only so many ways to describe being destroyed.
But once you get there,
that’s just the foundation.
Next, gather up all of the chinks in your chain,
fasten them together.
Make chainmail and write that bitch into battle.
Take his name, the one that’s still hurts to say and use it as a warcry. Then actually cry,
because there is nothing shameful about clearing your eyes.
Do not pick yourself up.
Do not be okay, because
heartbreak is not being okay,
it’s about remembering you were okay before.
It’s about saying “Fuck okay!”.
It’s about taking all of your broken pieces
and building yourself a castle, because I don’t care who you are.
You’re a goddamn queen.
It’s about saying “Fuck this poem!”.
No one succeeds at heartbreak.
I built myself a throne room out of pizza boxes and empty lunch bowls. And I can’t stop crying into my Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.
But one day I cry myself a fountain of youth.
Let’s go back to beginning.
I’m tired of self-help tips and friendly pick me ups.
I drink a bottles, bottles and bottles,
pretending their mouths belong to someone else.
But I’m done feeling sorry for myself,because
why apologize for loving until you burst?
My capacity to feel needs no pardon.
My heart needs no mending.
I am not broken.
I’m just a little more…explosive!