My heart is a trinket box
previously filled with costume jewellery
lovely in its own way
but I have sensitive skin
and you know how metals react with sensitive skin
over time.
I wore it often
thinking that I always would
claiming the style matched my own
even on days it turned my skin green
or threw up a rash.
It wasn’t until after a decade had passed
that it occurred to me I’d been avoiding
the obvious truth.
No matter how much I adored it
it was not a true match.
We weren’t compatible
in the way I thought
and gradually it had spilt out of my heart-box
leaving me empty.
Empty
enough to be filled
with something truly precious.
Not a trinket
not a necklace
not another box.
A living beating pulsing heart.
My own.
Treeshallow Musings 