BY MY PEN

For my wounded heart,
is like a mixtape
of my tender emotions
And, I am trying to keep it from drowing
deep,
into the oceans of sadness
because this tape of their memories
when ruined, takes time to heal
and in all those times,
clowns dressed up as crowned heads, with blades and knives
kill me
and leave….
Leave without tearing my flesh apart
without showing any scars.

For oh my dear heart,
you are a piece of an art
which I painted with colours of generosity
and warmth.
But ohh my dear heart,
is now made of iron bars
used to build the insides
of your burrow.

For now I carry my heart in my fingers
as when people with
blades and knives
arrive,
I no more hide,
instead I dedicate my poems to them
because I carry my heart in my fingers
hanging loosely,
across the sharp edges of those knives….,
across the sharp words of those knives.