I only like broken boys,
Just like the broken toys I was drawn to in my youth.
I liked my baby doll with dirt on its face.
It’s flesh-colored, stuffed torso bare for the world to see.
It’s dress lost 20 play dates ago.
I liked my stuffed animal with a small rip in its seam.
White, tiny beads spilling out,
A few at a time,
Until it had that nice deflated look.
I liked my Barbies with their heads pulled off.
Or their hair in a static, tangled, irredeemable mess.
One pink heel on,
The shoe’s twin left in the seat crack of a mom’s mini-van,
With only Graham cracker crumbs to keep it company.
I like broken boys too–
With broken hearts.
Boys with pieces of their sanity left back with their high school girlfriend,
Who they lost their virginity to.
I like boys who have a stained soul.
Boys with memories they would like to forget.
Boys that keep bad habits,
In their back pocket,
Just to keep the memories down for a night.
I like boys who don’t have much in their hands,
So they never give me what I deserve.
Boys who kiss me well,
But when the mosaic of their life crashes to the floor,
Expect me to pick up the pieces of glass with bloody, bare hands.
I like boys who have tears running down their cheeks,
Who long for me to hold the bottle to catch their tears as they fall.
Boys who I would die for,
But who are too busy dying,
To die for me.