I don’t want to be a delicate ******* flower
I want to be made of stone
I want to be a formidable tower
I want to be a battering ram
I don’t want to watch the world’s eyes pass over me
Like they do every ******* day
I don’t want to be the paper-hearted girl anymore
Because my heart always ends up torn and shredded
And balled up in some trash bin because
Somebody ****** up and decided to start over
But the funny thing is, you don’t get a new heart
Once it’s been broken. You left me with no other
Option but to fish my crumpled paper heart out of the
Trash, to smooth out and to erase the marks you left
But you can still see the wrinkles and the imprints
Of what was written. There’s no fresh heart for me.
There’s no replacing the petals that were lost to the
“He loves me, he loves me not” game. I may be
Made of stone, but I am just a pebble thrown
Around by the smallest body of water.
I may be a tower, but I’m a lego tower
And just the fist of a child could destroy me.
And ******* my paper heart.
Did you have to write your name in pen?