My heart is NOT broken because…
It’s made of iron, perhaps of plastic,
Not beautiful, but efficient and permanent,
In its own ugliness, or uniqueness, or
In its fearlessness of existing boldly and unquestioning,
My heart uselessly asks, over and over again,
“…it is a curse or a blessing?”
…and no matter how much it asks, no answer is found!
And all it’s timeless,
I could keep asking forever,
Without the horror of being stabbed from behind,
By friendly daggers…. it would take too long!
A curse or a blessing? Which? And who cares?
Empty containers, shaped as bodies,
Passing one another unknowingly, carefree
and ignorantly peaceful!
I am one of them!
Are there invisible hearts in our containers?
… more likely they exist on a different plane.
The plane of the blessed… or the cursed?
By whose standards?
By whose rules anything is born, exists, dies, is beautiful or ugly?
…is it a curse or a blessing,
To even have the indecent curiosity to ask myself such
Questions, which belong to the nude heart?