The first poem describes a heart being shattered into pieces after being handed over. The speaker needs to pick up the pieces of their broken heart and put it back together after their partner chooses to leave. The second poem is about a past full of mistakes and experiences that have left the speaker hurt and scarred, but their partner helps soothe and heal them, making them feel reborn. The third poem affirms the speaker's love for their partner who helps erase their adolescence and past, allowing them to start anew as a blank canvas for their partner.

1. Shattered Pieces
by Cherenee
Inside my sleeve, I pull out my heart,
handing it to you, "careful it's fragile,
and easily falls apart."
Extending your arms, you take the heart in
your tender warm hands.
It falls into a million shattered pieces - on
the floor it lands.
You begin to bend down to pick it up, sorrow and
sadness in your eyes.
Apologies are not enough.
Looking at you with tears in my eyes,
I ask you not to pick up the pieces of a heart
that has fallen apart.
I am the one who needs to pick up the pieces of
my shattered heart - one by one, piece by piece.
I need to put it together again, some how. some way.
Each piece of my heart has a memory so true.
Each piece of my heart has part of you.
You are the one who is leaving to start a new lease on life.
I'll just be here on my knees picking up the pieces of a
heart that feels like it's being pierced with a knife.
All my tears won't keep you near
All my tears won't mend what's not here.
Again I look at you with a whisper in my voice,
The only way my heart will mend and finally be complete,
is if you and I can come together without being discreet.
You see, what we have here and today, helps me face the
world, with a love for you that gives a glow -
but now, my darling, you made a choice.
My heart is on this floor, shattered and broke.
With each piece I pick up -
I need to learn to let go.

2. Inspiration
by Mimi
You ask me if I love you,
Then you suck the lips off my face
And chew on the delicacy of their maroon creases.
'Body shop' lipstick, no. 12;
The taste of compact slabs of cherry.
This cheap adolescent disguise has guided me through all
my realizations.
I left it on the edge of plastic vodka glasses and blood smeared mirrors,
On the foreskins of Greek men,
And finally, on all your cliched perfume soaked letters.
Now it is in your mouth, your throat, your stomach.
You have swallowed my teens and all those fermented mistakes.
The ones I danced into blind,
Fumbling for an urgent exit
In whitewashed jeans and tobacco coated pockets.
All the words that flew out and assaulted
Steve, Damien, Kieren, Gary, Ben
(and all the others my high tech brain has crashed out and deleted),
Have left open wounds in my voice box,
gauged by their barbed wire font.
But as you savor the many varied tastes of my existence,
I can feel my insides frantically stitching and nursing
my pubescent cuts and bruises. Healing in seconds.
Now I am your fetus and everything is warm.
You feed me with a mother's strength and make me reborn,
Without all these zits and misadventures.
My new born 'Halleaugh' scream, realized from sterilized lungs
will be pristine, no lipstick stains in sight.
The answer to your question is
"Yes, Yes, Yes! "
Yes, I love you.
YOUR PURPLE MECHANICAL PALMS,
THAT AT NIGHT SOFTEN LIKE CHOCOLATE IN THE SUNLIGHT
AND MELT INTO MY THIGHS.
YOUR HEAVY TORTURED EYES, YOUR LAUGHTER
AND THE WAY YOU INHALE YOUR MARLBORO.
Yes, Yes, Yes.
I swirl out of your anesthetic

3. With a bacon rind for a belly button
And that's my first word,
A singular syllable.
I can turn the lens until my eyes are in focus,
And you, my surgeon, become my mother.
"Your adolescence has been successfully removed.
The operation was beautiful, wonderful,
Just fine. "
My log in word is 'You'.
That is all I remember.
I am a blank canvas, a cut- price jotter pad, an overflowing biro.
Write all over me.
Scrawl your name in my razor sharp armpits,
In my louse- free hair, my eyelashes bulging with years of mascara.
Practice your joined up handwriting on
My Mound of Venus and the folds of my labia;
Magenta pink and bald.
I am your Frankenstein,
but I promise not to fail.
I will get top marks in my oral stage, my anal stage
And all the others I don't remember,
Because we hit the doodle stage in class.
With you, I will grow old and withered
And our tree roots will be dangerously entwined with time.
We will become soil once again and make love amongst the worms.
'Yes' will be always be my answer, my mantra.
You will always be my host, my vessel;
A place to store my happiness and tears.

4. No Mystery
by Gothic
You look into my eyes and see things you don't understand.
Am I a mystery? I think not.
You look at my smile;
You search for something that isn't there.
Am I a mystery? I think not.
You listen to my voice, and call me an angel.
This angel is flesh and blood,
Not a doll to be put on show.
You see - I'm not a mystery.
I am me.
I am flesh and blood.
Touch me; I wont break.
There's no mystery here.
Caress me; feel the warmth.
I'm not a mystery; I am Woman.
Here I am - desires abound;
Relentless and sensuous - yours to caress
Like a flower; make me bloom.
Don't stop; not even to rest!
No mystery here; Just a Woman.
I feel the weight of your body against mine;
Your heaving breath upon my skin.
The most gentle touch on my thigh,
The soft nibbling on my breasts -
Moving slowly in a downward motion.
Now you see,
I'm no mystery; I am YOUR Woman.
I am all Woman.