My heart is a fortress, a myriad of steel, an iron locket.
Forged with bands of lead, a crude altar
forged by the surges of emotion and curls of pain.
It is a locked box, a single prison cell, letting nothing in and nothing out.
I was proud of my construction, proud that my heart was not made of pastel paper.
It did not break. It did not crumple and dampen at the first sign of emotion.
But slowly, over time, cracks and fissures started to stain my iron heart.
I patched them at first, grazing over the thin nicks and stitches with calloused hands.
I reforged my heart in fire from the depths of the cosmos.
The thin cracks only grew wider.
They knit their way across my reformed heart.
Tears spilled down my face and scars spilled down my legs.
The fissures grew.
My now soft palms were unable to cover them anymore.
In the end, the two concave halves of my iron forged heart
split with a crack that bore into my skull.
There, in the hollow of what was once fire lay a flimsy, crumpled paper heart.
It beat with a weak pulse that throbbed through my bloodied chest.
Mutilated, I grabbed the scraps and wept.
Emotion flooded into me, spiking against me in agonizing waves.
My body cracked open like a shell.
The flimsy paper throbbed in the aching cavity of my chest,
my wordless screams.
And with it all, the dull reality.
That flimsy paper is stronger than the hardest of iron.
The torn pulp thrumming inside of me is more real than the thorns of steel.
How my dull paper heart is everything that my torn metal one is not.
VOUS LISEZ
Infinite Depths | a collection of poetry <33
Poésie"Though our depths be but infinite, we still drown within the edges of our skulls.' A sample of poetry from my officially published book! it's out now on Amazon <3 ☆ [Some of these poems touch on topics such as struggles with mental health and menti...
