Broken Boys

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.

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