imperfections: bow

Part 2 of "imperfections"

Paired with this poem.

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my heartstrings are strung

too tight 

and every chord 

plucked threatens 

to break

to snap

my first lover played

me like his piano

ribcage bruised against

the pedal 

so when he left 

the steel strings 

were frayed 

and I never thought 

I could be played again

but you learned 

instead to pull

across gently 

with your bow.

and you don’t expect 

the notes that 

come out

to be beautiful 

and you don’t flinch when 

it screeches instead 

you just keep 

on playing and 

that’s enough. 

I have never been 

my favourite song 

but you have always

listened.