[stained glass heart]

a heart is a delicate toy, [beating it’s own frail song]

encased inside a cage of bones, strong

yet equally complex in its meaning.


yet, unlike bone, a heart can be shattered

in many ways. instead of by a hammer or

sword, we save our hearts from caring too

loud, from falling and giving it up only to

find the fragile glass of our living engine

can be shattered with just a few choice words.


[words that slam into them;

i hate you! i thought we were friends.

how can you lie to me.] words stab at the

fragile glass and shatter it piece by piece

even when we let them rebuild themselves a

small piece will always be gone, a slash

over the eyes of a piece of art,

a vague memory of what made it once soar

singed there forevermore.


a heart is nothing more than a

bearer of weights [anger and sadness

love and hate; fear and courage] a heart is a shoebox

buried in the ground of our soul longing to be touched,

for love’s tender embraced

This poem is about: 


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