• My heart…
    You mean that infected…
    Throbbing lump of darkness in my chest?
    That never ending pit of fear?
    An unfeeling mass of shriveled tissue.

    My heart…
    A metaphor for love
    For understanding and hope
    Always ends in disappointment.

    My heart…
    Few have held it.
    Dropping it quickly
    As the acid eats through their skin
    Fearing that which is defective

    My heart…
    Can be healed.
    But there is no one
    Who has stood up to the challenge
    And survived the wait

    My heart…
    Will take time to bloom
    To show its bright red petals
    To the one
    Who holds the key
    Who can whisper ‘I love you’
    And make me believe
    They are there to stay.
    That they won’t leave me all alone

    My heart…
    Is not made of steel
    But made of glass
    Broken glass that can be reassembled
    Into the beautiful figurine
    It once was.

    My heart will one day open only to one who holds…
    That key…
    That special tone…
    In the way they say….
    I love you.