THRONS

Many in my heart, until it became a habit. Yeah, those thorns. It became a habit that pricking pain became enduring. I can’t remove them, but what if— what if they soften and I get backstabbed once again? I am already half-dead; I can’t die fully now. Afraid to love, afraid to receive love. It scares me when someone cares for me without my consent. Not their fault, but what if they pierce me once again? Will I stand up, shatter down, or have the strength to get up? I know I am strong, but I tear up when I see people being taken care of. Warm hugs and smiles shatter my heart, leaving me in thoughts that— will I have that chapter in my life? If I allow you, will you take care of my heart? Please melt my fucking barrier. Keep my scars, but remove the thorns. Will you make me feel what love is?