Paper hearts

(written 1/3/11)

Any masterpiece of a thousand years

Could easily begin the same.

With crooked drawings of the deepest red

Of a shape before the shame.

A little hand that draws and scribbles

Was made by the shape she learns

A pink cutout for all she knows

Will express all of her love.

When paper worlds could not supply

The amount of hearts she’ll give.

To every person who ever filled

Her white heart to its brim.

But what to do when paper worlds

Were better left unused?

When cutouts were just flimsy things

The recipients all abused.

When a grown up girl regrets her skill

Of a perfectly drawn paper heart.

After watching all it could ever mean

Be ripped and torn apart.

She’ll pretend the shape is a paper weight

That holds stacks of unwritten words

For years and years of trying to draw

With fingers as numb as hers.

Men hold her hand to trace the shape

And find her a yellow frame.

She smiles and looks at it every day

But inside she feels the same.

And although they try to change her mind

She cannot feel the truth

Of a love as pure, as a hand drawn heart

Created all on her own.

Of all the shapes in all the world

And all the stencils one could use

Nothing sadder is the day

When forever a heart outlines a bruise.

What kind of love can fill the lines

Of a shape she has never known?

When no man can fill the void of

The one who taught her how to draw?