Heart is like a  vase
That into it
You can  grow
A thousand flowers
Of beauty

i keep a supply of napkins and band-aids
because i tend to keep my anger in a vile in my chest
i have the habit of letting it sit in my palms
and clenching my fists until i am numb
but my hands tire easy, the cork pops off
and it slips through the spaces in my ribs and seeps in between my fingers
i patch up the cracks
i close all the doors
i wipe up the spill
but it stains the ******* carpets, and walls grow weaker by the day
damaged like this is no way to live if i am never on the mend
i promise you next time, i'll rip a magazine
i'll write angrily until my hands are cramped
i'll set a match to an old textbook just to watch it burn
i'll scream until my throat catches fire
or i'll run until every muscle in my body feels numb
i will not bottle it up
i will not try and cut it out of my skin
it does not live in my veins
i will not punch the walls until my knuckles break
i know the answer to feeling bad
is not to feel nothing at all
i will not take the easy way out (it's a dead end, anyway)
i will take the longest road up the mountain
and sing my heart out at the top