Do Hearts Come With Warranties?

because mines broken and i wanna take it back

there are days when i want to take my heart back to the store because it dont behave itself the way i want it to and some days when the recall option ought to save me from carrying this defective heart into perpetuity and then i dont even want to feel better anymore because i cant imagine it any better but God has healed hearts before and i suppose mine is no different from the case of thousands before me

i fade back into crowded throngs of people who wonder what would have happened if they had been different and how could they have articulated what fermented in dizzying isolation because they werent sure and then they decided too late and realize that they will have to move forward but better to go alone perhaps because the broken pieces of heart are too slippery to hold together any longer

i write through some sort of catharsis in a world where perhaps no one but a few people will ever really understand all this and so i become vague and obscure yet still retain an outlet to verbalize the torn heartstrings that seek mending through soothing words that somehow shape a picture out of a mess of smeared paint but monet recognizes his masterpiece in the aftermath of a clarity regimen that only left crooked footprints along a linguistic path of impotent resignation

mixed-up metaphors move the melancholy to less regretful planes as half-hearted humor anesthesizes pretty much everything

and i wonder if perhaps one's suffering might be less personal if others can relate and maybe even find it poignant

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A grammarless poem by funke