i do not wear my heart on my sleeve.
instead, i keep it locked up in a glass box
buried deep within me
X marks the spot
cross my heart
and hope to fly
stick a moonbeam in my eye
they say what doesn't **** you makes you stronger
and i think i believe that's true
but sometimes
there are moments
when it's just too much
too hard to resist the urge
to curl up from the outside-in
like a snail shell
a home within.

but eventually
my beautiful muse,
dress flowing in the wind,
comes to whisper in my ears
sweet echoes through my shell space
she whispers of a treasure map
drawn across her back-canvas by chilled fingertips
that only she can decode
(with my help)
X marks the spot
cross my heart
and hope to fly
eyes are for seeing
but when they're closed
they are for feeling
my muse, my muse
how do you do it?
shoot me straight up into space
so that i land
X marks the spot
in a little glass box
warm between your lined palms.