My heart doesn’t fit right, too large for its contents
Compacted by ribs that have nowhere to go now
But in
It’s one step from cracking–an empty clay vessel
That’s crushed by the lungs that are keeping me living
Somehow
And my head is too heavy with some sort of conscience
That tips all the scales so that I am always in
The wrong
So I look at my hands and I try to be anchored
To mottled and bloated pink fingers and maybe
I’m dead
My limbs start to shake as I’m Atlas, I’m holding
The weight of the sky; I’m not dead, but just all too
Alive
They look at my crushed heart and full head and tired hands
And try not to see that I’m falling apart in
Their arms
They say it’s a good thing that I am the capstone
If I were to crumble, it all would come tumbling
Down
Yes, I am the rock, an immovable presence
And cracking in places where no one can see me
Decay
It’s okay, I’m alright, and when you recall me
next, think of the big heart and not the small soul kept
Within
This piece captures a kind of physical and emotional tension that feels deeply personal yet universally relatable. The imagery of the body struggling to contain emotion is so evocative—it reminds me how often we carry feelings in our physical form without even realizing it. Thank you for putting that sensation into words.
This piece really captures the physicality of emotional overwhelm—the way the heart and lungs, meant to sustain us, can feel like they’re working against us. The imagery of a ‘clay vessel’ being held together by breath is both fragile and deeply resilient. Thank you for sharing something so raw and resonant.