I packed up my heart today
Set it gently in a box
filled with old books
and worn shirts
unwanted photos
and shoes outgrown
things I had kept
for too long
taking up space
I didn't have.
I looked at it
resting there
among stripes and dust jackets
and scuffed leather
how much smaller
it seemed than when
it was inside my chest.
Its surface
bleeding beaten bruised
carved by a lifetime
of wars fought
scorched by violent wildfires
haunted by ghosts
who make homes
in the valleys of scars.
I wanted to say
taht I had tried
to carry it
that I had tried
to endure as it had endured
(that's what they say about the heart right?
It always endures?)
but I was running out of room
for parts of myself.
And I think
I'll need more boxes.
(Written this day last year)