You Stole The Key

When I was a kid

I was told to by my mother to wear my heart on my sleeve

So that others could always feel my love and see my happiness when I walked by

To never be ashamed of myself and to carry myself with pride

But to wrap my heart in chainmail and armor to protect it from those who would hurt it

So that everytime someone hit my shoulder just a little too hard

It wouldn’t damage

Turns out

When people do more than hit

That armor doesn’t last.

When I was a kid

My armor was ripped off and my heart got cracked.

It wasn’t shattering

But it was deep and long.

And over time

Life weathered down on that crack.

I still wore my heart on my sleeve

But it wasn’t as bright

My love became a selected thing
And my pride faltered.

I smiled just as much as the rest of em all.

When I was a kid

Someone else took off that armor.

They didn’t rip it like before

The simply took their time to slip between the chips and cracks until they were near and dear to my heart

Then they hit hard.

More cracks

Like spiderwebs threatened my heart all around.

They spread from one larger crack

One not quite as big or long as the last.

I no longer wore my heart on my sleeve.

I hide it deep in my chest and wrapped it in chests
Wrapped in other chests, wrapped in chains.

All wrapped in chains and locks
All unlocked by a single key.

I told myself I’d never give the key away again

Because I was afraid that all it would take was one more hard hit

And my heart would shatter like glass

And blow away like pixie dust

Leaving me with nothing left and nothing to live for.


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