Fool of a Heart

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My dear heart,

You beat yourself up

To such little odds

You feed up my mind

With these naive thoughts

I don´t know if you deserve

Punishment or reward

For planting seeds

That may never grow

Fool of a heart,

Full of hope

All I see are flowers

Even though

I step on thorns

And still, you try…

Tell me, heart

Are you brave

Or are you just blind?

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But I still write

I know it´s pointless.

But I still write.

That´s what I do whenever my chest feels heavy.

Or my throat gets sore.

Writing puts my feelings under control.

Emotions are clothes all over the bedroom floor.

Writing is a loving mother that folds them into a pile.

I do have great emotional needs.

I am trying to find out where the drain is.