We all need a little inspiration.

Once long ago,
I controlled my own innocence.
Spread my love
around wide like a bird's wings.
Pulled fake petals
to fashion them into my schemes.

It was stolen,
or I lost it.

Then,
I guarded
my trust
as sacred.
Didn't let
them catch
it naked.

Just appear taken.

Any more,
love is stashed
in failed pieces,
living, but abashed
and restless.

My heart's rationed.
And I am breathless.
This house is vacant.
no pitter-patter hearts,
all the tenderness faded.

Love's dying in shards.
I guess my heart's wasted.

I can feel a guilt trip when it's on me.  It's heavy and hot.  It burns my face, and makes my eyes leak.

It's a common misconception that I am insensitive... immune to sadness.  I am hardened... but I need gentleness in my life--perhaps more than others.

I weep.  I hurt.  My heart feels.  It fucking feels everything.  It feels every word you say, or don't say, notices every gesture or eye contact. 

She's so tired.  She's so fucking lonely.

The show I put on is too good, and I don't know how to change it.  I don't know how to let people see me.  What's worse?  A broken heart or a heart that can't open?