Wearing my heart on my sleeve has not always been met so receptively…
I cry and I scream
but I've learned to, only in places where the icecream truck never passes.
Behind closed doors, where the world can't hold their flashes.
Only when me, myself, and I, and the rest of the world, is safe.
No slashes, no gashes, no pain, no gain, just in Jesus Christ's name… tell me what to say!
Safety is an illusion, of course.
A ticking timebomb meant to set its course.
Never fear, they say — oh just hold on, dear, to that which never passes.
Spirit.
But,
What if as a child I cried when they took away creative writing from our days,
what if as a child I liked to stay in the flowering garden instead of go out and play,
although you could never beat me,
I had my vulnerabilities to the other knights, to which I eventually became prey.
How many slashes did my heart have to take before I could defend myself?
How then did I learn kindness, when the simplest pleasantries were revoked?
I think it was one day in the heat of a Miami May that I surrendered to myself and said —
to you I have, and to you I will keep at bay, no matter what changes take place:
this heart of gold will never be taken from its very rightful place.
