I am a heart collector

Hanging the artefacts of every misadventure
Now my walls groan
Under the weight of each pain I’ve created

The room you made for me was too small
I was too tall for the bed you laid for me

I am not worth your ‎tears
I am not worth your sleepless nights

This anger will corrode ‎ your mind
Selling our story to press won’t make you rich

Dear John,
Forgive me‎ but I waited for you to evolve
Not many women know how to mother grown men

I am a collector of hearts
Haunted by the relics of each misadventure
And  nightly, my walls weep
For every pain I’ve created



Image by Natalie Hegert via Flickr.

About the Author:

Portrait - UcheomaUcheoma O‎nwutuebe is a Nigerian writer whose works have been published in Litmagazine,Australia,The Sentinel Nigeria,Y!Naija and other national dailies. She blogs at www.ucheomaonwutuebe.blogspot.com.