Sometimes, my heart is paper thin, easibly rippable
Consciously edible at the edges where life has frayed.
Hold my heart up to the light
See? There; a tear where a spike has pushed through,
Torn in two my fragile sensibility.
Sometimes, my heart is tough and strong
No words, however long, can break through this impenetrable wall
Of solid, steadfast love.
Love that doesn’t call the shots, or plots
Against, or rails in disdain.
Sometimes, my heart is flexible
Fillable, with no constraints but a constant
Heartbeat, drum beat, skip to the beat
Dancing without fear of being shunned,
Never worrying about being number one
But giving without any need of payment, of any kind.
Sometimes my heart is sore;
It aches, and with every movement,
Pain fills the veins, and, with endless pulses,
Shoots fear and overwhelming anxiety into every cavity.
No desire to heal but to hurt, and hurt again, with
Constant put downs, rebukes, and history.
Sometimes, my heart is all four of the above.
One day strong, then flexible, sore, paper thin;
The din and shouting of the world makes me recoil,
Makes my blood boil as the spoils of crime against humanity
Rip paper thin hearts, leaving nothing but dust,
Leaving nothing but bricks and mortar
When have to sort, wade through, like treacle,
This abysmal mess that we have made, and, with a tirade,
We scream, we cry, we mourn the endless death and destruction.
But sometimes, my heart is a rally cry
That pushes me to say, to demonstrate all the love enclosed
In this beating heart.
My heart says “Stand up! Stand & be counted! Shout me loud and strong,
Sing my beloved song of hope and freedom
Against the hearts of stone, the cold, the unmoveable
Whose every move is to make them unnaccountable
Not doubtable, for all the slander, the hatred, that pits man against man
In this unforgiving sea of despair, no care but for themselves,
When so many, so many hearts are paper thin, rustling in the air,
Hung out to dry, no goodbye, but a shut door”
Yes, my heart may be paper thin;
It may be sore
But it is also tough, strong, flexible.
I’ll cleave no more to that which makes me disenchanted,
I’ll weave my heart strings with those whose love, whose colour for life
Is indescribably irridescent with beauty.
Let the sometimes be the all times.
Let the paper thin and sore be markers for how far we have travelled.
Let the flexibility of our hearts encase the fragile souls.
Let the tough, strong beats sound out, pound out, never be afraid to speak out.
Let the sometimes be the all times.