We let so many people into our hearts during this one lifetime.

Some people take our heart and run away with it. Some people take our heart and stomp all over it. Some people cannot handle how spacious our heart is — just the amount of love it has to give.

Some people are worth giving your heart to. But it's scary when you've seen the past. The boots that kicked it in the knees, leaving it to bleed.

By Morning

The carpet is dirty.

So many shoes, in all of their filth,

Walked over the softness.

Crumbs were dug deeper

Into their trenches.

And the colors faded with every spilled drink.

Like a paper in water, bleeding its ink.

And the staircase is creaking.

No matter how delicate

The footstep might be,

No matter the pressure,

No matter how slowly,

The wood will cry, heavily, bleeding.

Like the heart of the poet whose poem you are reading.

Because so many shoes have entered this house.

So many hands have torn off this blouse.

So many stairs have been climbed,

And the chandeliers chimed…

…All in warning,

That the house —

Oh, the heart —

Will soon be empty,

By morning.

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