Beautiful Mess


I wish I could fix everything
by holding on for dear life
and never letting go.
But how
when my fingertips
only leave behind
beautiful ashes.
Would it be any different
if I had stayed, or if I left
differently than I had?
But how
when I know that
I burn those I love
either way.
Could my fire inspire
if I never let anyone
too close?
But how
when all I know to do
is pull you closer
when I am alone.
You say you'll never leave
or falter, or fail
where I'm concerned,
But how
when all that I leave you
are scars and bruises
and shattered faith.

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