That’s how I was born.
My heart was created raw,
From our first breath,
Cascaded into the world
And the world cascaded back.
Open to every touch and sensation, every beat expanded us outward.
Like sunlight on our raw hearts.
Sunlight burns as well as warms.
Tiny cuts and gaping wounds.
At some point I began to make my armor.
Carefully (though unconsciously) crafted,
Soft and supple as fine leather,
A case to stop the wounds
And hold in the warmth against a cold world.
Leather, over time, becomes stiff and inflexible.
That which holds in warmth also holds it out.
All unawares, I found my heart constricted by the armor of my making,
Wrapped and numb,
Barely able to beat.
Time to rip the cover off.
“Foolish,” I hear them say.
“An unprotected heart is doomed to pain and
The unexpected fatal blow.”
I accept that.
A heart constricted will die as surely,
And perhaps more painfully.
I’d rather be a fool.
I want my raw heart.