Cut out this poet’s heart . . .
I want to be shallow.
I want to cry fake tears
over trivial things that seem momentous.
I want to wake up with that hangover
And miss class because I partied too much.

I’m tired of dragging myself
Out of bed every morning
To face another day as ugly as yesterday,
Because the beauty of life has left me,
While the pain has taken its place.

Why must I hurt this deep?
Why can’t my work help me forget?
Why won’t these words let me sleep?

Cut out this poet’s heart,
That has lost its muse to life,
A life far away, where happiness dwells
And I don’t exist.

Cut out this poet’s heart,
That I may not feel so deeply
This pain that haunts my dreams
. . . If it lets me sleep.

Cut out this poet’s heart,
So I may not see the reality
Of a world so cruel
And filled with heartache,
And can be content with the illusions
Everyone shows us.


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Copyright ©1999 by Carol Hopwood. All rights reserved.
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