How’s Your Heart?

stir

For even the smallest hole may feel bottomless

if carved out by another’s less than gentle hand.

Every fluttering page, brick, case, or feast

that you’ve used to mend the hollow

only makes weary walls creak

beneath a pressure never invited,

now a (not so welcome) guest.

You’ve even learned to ration your love

into morsels no larger than pencil shavings,

feeding your ravenous craving with meager meals

not fit for any budding soul.

Were you to just abandon the dread

that you think keeps you from a famine,

you would find that full banquets of love

never diminish from returning visits,

but only surge and grow

as you help yourself to more.

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