I tried to stop myself; to pull myself back from the edge before I could feel the rush of looking down. My heartbeat running faster than I could chase it. Hope is exhilarating. It is freedom until it is the cage. Stopping you from feeling, from being; a prison for my tattered ego. I thought wrong, I felt wrong, I am wrong. This changes nothing except my hope and that was a feeling I should have left dead on the pavement before I saw you, before I felt you, before I longed for a taste of you. So you robbed me of nothing. My soul is a thrift store for unsure hearts wanting to be reminded that they are worthy; that someone will want them once they are placed on the shelf. I am a foster home for grown men to briefly rest with until their Mother returns for them. Every mother the 'MILF' I will never be but who ever said hearts mattered anyway? Only you dear girl. You keep thinking your being can reflect in your image and that's where hope let you down. Love doesn't exist without beauty; without some perfection to match it's own pulse. Messy isn't beautiful. Raw is not beautiful. Fat will never be beautiful. You are no longer needed here. He has been sold; picked up by his mother. The thrift store owner is not meant to be the keeper and the hearts will never stay. Keep saving all those beautiful hearts until it's time to turn that thrift store into a grave of buried dreams and all the hope and love that simple girl gave away.


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