There are no broken hearts,
only scarred
and wounded people.
Touched,
hurt,
displaced and lonely ones,
who have reached out
into the world
and come back
seeing their own blood.
What do we do
with those of us
who come back from the dark,
and the light,
and the war,
to see themselves
somehow diminished,
made less
by their experience?
We all take off
the skin we wear
in hopes that we might be
loved
for who we are.
Then, when we do
feel something
we can call “Love”,
the dart
and the dagger
come to nest
in our chests;
and we change inside.
So vulnerable.
It has to be
okay
to be alive,
and die,
and not be okay,
when we come
into the world
hurt,
and lost,
and scared,
and violated.
Did we not know
that feeling
everything
that can be felt,
is normal?
We are all
made of scars;
no broken hearts.
HG – 2021
