All over the world
People are spinning
Heartache into poetry.
They paint murals and sing songs,
Sweeping the dust of the breakage into a pile.
They melt it down until its luscious liquid
And they mold it into something.
They play melodies on melancholy.
There is clapping.
There is so much clapping.
Our breakups become our anthems.
We play them on drums.
The base beats loudly a message to the world
That we are still alive without you,
We strive without you,
Hell we even thrive without you.
The pain filled paint spills
Dance in fire rings on our canvases
Reminding the world that beneath the surface we are all
One tribe.
One angry tribe
Raging against the ransacking of our hearts.
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