Conversations with Self and Me...So Much Work Left To Do...But I'm Doing It

hey
yeah?
we need to talk
about...?
your heart
my heart?
yes your heart
what about it?
i'm tired of holding it together...
***************************
Her intentions are not of a soft shell
but she likes the way time has worn her edges
soft and smooth,
as she runs a finger across life
feeling rounded curves at each turn
occasionally jagged peaks protrude
not yet eroded by healing tears
instead filling the valleys
deepening on each side-
either she drowns daily
or floats,
searching for an olive branch in the debris left behind
not realizing the debris will stick to her edges
strengthen her walls
eventually,
she will be able to carve a door to walk through
or open a window to breathe-
even in darkness
stained glass is beautiful.
***********************
but it is so hard to see beauty
in cracked reflections
only ugliness and distortion make sense
altered reality plays tricks with truth
past life creates present lies
only to dine on self
because her world is starving
with only spoonfuls of emptiness to feed her.
binging on whatever scraps
are thrown her way
gorging on rancid sweet trash
until her womb is so heavy with self-hatred
she must ram her heart into her throat
to purge it all away.
acidic lies burn as they rush through her insides
past her silent tongue
only the sickening sound of a broken heart can be heard
as it slams into the vomit it helped create.
she picks up the pieces as always
trying to scrape away the cancer festering inside
diligently chipping away the hardening plaque
using what she just expelled from her throat
as a binding glue
not realizing though the pieces fit,
slightly,
never quite the same really,
she will continue to decay from the inside
leaving only a soft shell
that no one can love
not even her self.