Faint of heart
Of all the things to be in the world,
I would rather be those than faint of heart.
The heart controls not only the bloodstream,
But the love you can feel.
The way you can see the light in the darkest of people,
Or believe in something so fiercely, that you would fight for it,
Or how you can feel courageous,
Because you know that you are a person of worth and infinite value,
And who are they to tell you that you are insignificant?
Without my heart, I would merely be my brain,
I would be logical, intelligent, factual,
But I could never feel.
Being faint of heart can be physical,
Having weak muscles slowly thump,
Each time a strain,
But still, it beats.
But the worse fate seems to me,
To have a heart so small, so weak,
That you can't love,
Can't take courage,
Can't have a cause to fight for,
Can't believe in something true,
Seems like a fate worse than death.
After all, how can you live if you can't love?
With just a few words,
I am reduced to that little bird again.
Maybe she never left,
I'll never know.
She could never do anything right,
Was always different,
In the not-good way,
Always shamed and embarrassed them.
She was an embarrassment.
She moved away from her old nests,
Where the other birds her age used to stare and gossip about her,
And thought she changed,
And thought she made stable foundations,
But she always was crazy.
Then too soft.
Never able to find the happy medium.
And then she came back,
And the bird's beaks were mostly shut,
She didn't feel close to anyone,
But still talked to people.
But then her own sister whispered up at her,
"You embarrass me. I am ashamed to have people know we are sisters."
And the words echo in her ears.
And she remembered all those times spent apologizing for not knowing better, knowing that the apology would come in the morning.
The apologies came and went, and it was hard to feel better.
She knew it was never meant as harshly as the words came out, but she was young.
And sometimes she was spiteful, Sometimes she was rude,
But the times she didn't know any better,
Or forgot to think,
Those stung the most.
Yawn. The little bird stretches and wakes, and every morning hears a different apology.
Over time, they meant less and less.
And today, she knows an important lesson-- words said in anger hold the truths we'd never set free otherwise.
i am weak i can't do one thing without ruining the other there is no way i can ever appease one demon without enraging the other there is the girl who laughs and laughs and laughs until the world ends in fire and then laughs still because it's too funny; and there is the girl who shrivels up and cries and watches the room spin and spin around the world and then smiles as she smashes all the glass in her beautiful terrible cage and all the emptiness fills with the shards; impossible broken pieces of something that used to be whole. And the two pieces, the two shards, smile in unison, tears running down their faces, from the hilarity, the beauty, the ugliness of it all.