She holds out her heart

in an open hand. 

Day after day,

for hours on end. 

Cradling it gently,

with her eyes open wide.

It’s a mystery to her

and she cannot decide

if perhaps it holds the answer, 

the key to the gate. 

She may never know, 

but patiently she’ll wait. 

She longs to give it everything,

everything she has. 

But what she has falls short,

so quickly seems to pass. 

It beats against her skin,

a wordless lullaby. 

But beneath the steady rhythm,

she can hear its cry. 

She wants so much to soothe it,

to ease its hungry yearn. 

Alone she fears she’s useless,

with so much left to learn. 

She hides it without knowing

the damage she will cause. 

Afraid of what the world might see

in all her ugly scars. 

She whispers that she loves it,

but wishes that she knew 

if it could whisper back,

if it’d say it loved her too. 

She wants to know it better,

needs to understand. 

Until then, she’ll keep

holding out her heart,

in an open hand.