Tell Me About Your Heart

Tell me about your heart.

Does it howl at night like mine.

Does it echo, does it echo.

Do you listen to it, or do you cover your ears, do you talk over it, do you turn your back on it.

Does it only ever beat, or does it thud, does it pound, does it ask, does it demand.

Do you remember where you got that scar.

Do you remember why you built those walls, why you made them so high, why you never let them down.

Did someone break it once.

Did someone break it twice.

Did someone break it enough times for you to decide it wasn’t worth the risk, it wasn’t worth the reward.

Did you think for a moment that I was worth the risk, I was worth the reward.

Did you hold it in your hands, turn it over in your hands, think about what it would be like to give it to someone else for a little while, cracked though it was, scared though it was.

For a little while or forever, did you ever think about forever, did you ever want it to be forever.

Are you tired of hiding it away.

Are you tired of it wanting, wanting, wanting, does it want, want, want.

Does it need.

Did it ever need me.

Did it ever want me.

Does it ever pull, tug, lean.

Does it ever skip, stutter, race.

Does it ever stop, does it ever stop.

Are you ever scared when it stops.

Are you ever scared that it will stop still lying there in your hands, still behind its walls, still nobody’s but yours.

Tell me about your heart.

Tell me, is it soft.

Tell me, is it stone.

Tell me, tell me –

was any of it ever mine.