there's a million paper hearts I scatter
in everything I do
and half are torn every day,
but some of them flutter away into the sky,
for someone else to hold onto.
one paper heart torn,
for the girl in the bus I take to school everyday,
with a new black eye every week
and the cuts on her chin she says don't hurt.
I give her paper hearts but she tears them because she doesn't know what it's for.
she's never gotten one before.
two paper hearts torn,
for every time my best friend cuts the call because she has to go somewhere.
she is changing, growing, turning into a person whose life I don't get to be in anymore,
I am changing, growing,
and yet these paper hearts wait for every weekend I call.
three paper hearts torn,
for the cards I make for my brother every year that he says don't impress him.
I make them for me, he says,
and he's right, but my paper hearts are drenched in nights I've spent crying,
because the only shoulder I've ever known,
says I am overstaying my welcome in the silences on the phone calI I make
once a week.
four, and five, and six paper hearts that fly away,
hidden in a stranger's bag,
or my school partner's pencil kit,
the lame joke the boy in front tells me,
the girl on the bus that pats the seat beside her when she sees me,
or maybe tucked away in another birthday card,
waiting for my brother to tear it up again.
and seven, eight, nine, paper hearts I fold up for another day,
I close my eyes and go to sleep,
and the hearts flutter away,