This heart is bruised and battered It’s been contorted and squeezed into so many shapes that it’s forgotten it’s form It doesn’t know what it is, it doesn’t know what it wants But there is beauty in that isn’t there? Maybe the heart is elastic Maybe it is relaxing slowly into its form rather than searching for a mold Maybe it needs patience Maybe it needs love For now I leave it be I hold it in its agony, give it my love and wait