The She Heart
The She Heart1 min 435 1 min 435
I sit back, waiting for the show to begin.
Women walk through the aisle meekly
Their hearts like popcorn in paper baskets
They are careful not to spill them.
Those hearts; some broken, some brittle
Some with madness etched on them
And so they walk like the vases by the windows of expensive stores
They're scared to let go of their hearts
Whilst they smash on the hard, tile-lain floors like bone china, or they may spill pools of tears and blood
Some hearts are brittle and a little melodramatic, and some careful
As they carry explosives within and may end up in flames any moment
Some hide smoky volcanoes in them like secrets, the ground trembling as they walk
Some carry bubbles of laughter, sheer innocence
And I pray they do not break their hearts as well I watch them,
A snobbish grin plays on my lips
My heart made of glass carefully chiseled and aged
And then I dip a sponge into my heart to paint the pain into graceful words.