The She Heart

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.