Polariod Eyes

Sometimes I wish I had Polaroid eyes.

Because my heart has always been better at dispensing. 

There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. 

We can always remember the color or our mother's eyes.

How old we were when we had our first kiss.

And the name of the person we kissed. 

The number of times our hearts have been beaten. 

And that the words "yours" and "ours" are only one letter different. 

But we can't remember the number of times 

our parents called us by our sibling's name. 

How many years it took us to understand people. I'm still trying. 

And how many times we flew kites up in the sky with messages on them

wondering if someone was even there. 

If anyone could hear us.

Please don't hold that against yourself. 

Please don't turn your face away from me. 

You can't help it.
I can't help it. 

My heart can't help it. 

We used to believe pixie dust made us fly.

We used believe in Neverland and the promises it held.

But now there's pixie dust clogged in my heart.

And I can't remember the last time there weren't spider webs
everywhere, 

And the only promise I have is that my heart
says it will pump one more day, maybe more.


Because my pulmonary arteries keep asking for their lunch break.
And my right ventricle keeps pulling pranks. 

My left atrium wants to be the right,
and the right atrium wants to be the aorta.
I keep waiting for them all to stop working.
Give me their two weeks notice.


Maybe one of these days they will.
Maybe I'll get those Polaroid eyes.



Maybe.