Have I had a change of heart?
A change of my heart?
Where?....Ah there....
I almost didn't recognize it under all the dust and dirt.
It's lain forgotten, covered in black tarnish and orange rust.
How long did it lay under a scorching sun, dying from the inside out? The edges breaking and crumbling to dust?
How long in the pouring rain with no shelter? Awash in the sewer flood of a thunderstorm, floundering, whipped down the open street with no anchor?
But my heart it still is.
With the deep gouges and the slashes and the tears right there in the muscle. With bruises and scrapes from being carelessly tossed away.
Yes it is my heart still.
See? It fits. Never mind an odd angle here or there, the random twinge as it settles into place.
It's definitely mine, I know it by the feeling.
You see, it has been twisted and turned and wrung and tossed and thrown and squeezed and drained and dropped and stepped on...but changed?
No, changed is the one thing it has never been.
About the Creator
Rachel McCaulley
I began writing poetry at the age of 12. Since then, I’ve written short stories, plays, news articles, a novel, and even a pilot for a tv show. Nothing feels quite the same as putting just the right words together in just the right way.
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