I've had a poem on my heart lately
That I've not been able to put into words.
I'm not even sure what it's about-
Maybe it's about you,
Maybe it's about me,
Or maybe it's about the world.

But maybe it's not about
What poem's been on my heart,
Maybe, there might be a chance
That our hearts
Are really poems.

Maybe every bruise
And every crack
And crevice
Is a new stanza
Being written.

Maybe every heartache
Is a new line
And every teardrop
Is a new word.

This might just be a wishful thought
But what if every wishful thought
Is a new metaphor
And every broken dream
Is a simile.

What if our hearts
Are all poems
That God is writing
Using us
As the pen?

What if every day
Is a new example
Of imperfection
Being used
To carry out
A perfect will?

If our hearts
Are really just poems,
And poems
Are really just hearts
On paper,
Then I guess
We're all living works of art
Writing one poem
All together
With billions of different stories
And even more different verses
And each one is just as important
As the one before.

So maybe
I don't really have
A poem
On my heart,
Maybe my heart
Is a poem
Asking,
Begging,
Pleading
To be put
Into words
And freed.