My heart is made of glass.
Tap it once;
And you’ll hear its melody and rhythm,
Singing in tune with the universe.
Tap it twice;
And a crack might appear on the surface
But do not be shaken,
I have become accustomed to fixing my heart.
The pink fluid confined in this glass body has leaked from the fissures too many times to count,
And every time,
I pour it back into this core
So that my heart will be full again.
.
Some believe that this pumping vessel of mine has walls of wood, steel and concrete,
When in fact I hide its fragility by enveloping it with blankets and pillows.
It was only ever made of glass,
And always will be.
.
When I was a child,
Its surface was smooth.
But now,
If you make your way past the gates of protection and persona I have built
And you end up in this place;
Run your fingers across its glass borders,
And notice its rough exterior.
.
I wish people were more aware of my glass heart.
The world seems to play with it like a basketball,
Hitting it on the floor, waiting for it to bounce back,
When it has, in reality, broken once again.
It lies on the floor,
Shattered,
Pink liquid oozed onto the floor,
And I go, as I always have,
To this puddle of pink mixed with glass shards,
And reconstruct my heart.
