Steadfast & True

I feel like I have a giant, gaping hole in my chest. I thought would fix itself over time. But it feels like it's been ripped out of my chest, squeezed until every drop of blood left its cavities and then dropped on the floor. My chest feels hollow and dark. 

I carefully pick it up off the ground, clean some of the dirt and debris off and try to breathe some life back into it. Sighing in relief as the beating pulsed back into its rhythmic patterns in my hands. It wasn't back to its lush, pulsating self. It looked lacklustre and drained. My heart lost everything about her that made her look even the slightest bit alive. 

To other people, it's just an anatomically correct heart. It did its job. It pumped blood throughout my body and kept me alive, delivering oxygen to places. It was just an organ. 

To me, this beating thing that lives in my chest is my entire world. This is the centre of my whole being. This is where my whole being lives. This is part of myself where I've fully lived and experienced life. This is where I made the decisions that I've had to make with crappy options to choose from. This is the home where my love flourishes and grows, and spills outside of its bounds - floating freely into the night sky. This is where my passion, my creativity, my caring nature, everything that makes me, me, lives. 

I wish I could get more people to see my heart, how I see my heart. 

I feel as though when people look at me, they don't see my heart. They see a body, ripe for the taking. They see a tortured soul who always got the shit-end of the stick, and gazes up at the universe asking why. They see the girl whose family absolutely tore her down, and hated the very essence of who she was - trying to fit her into a tiny little box of their choosing. They see the girl who has given her all to lovers, friends, workplaces, and families - expecting little in return. Even scraps of the bare minimum would do, but that was hardly shown. The child had to raise her sibling, and be a mother before she could've ever been a teenager. And as of lately, she's the one whose ex fucking obliterated every aspect of her heart. 

It's exhausting. 

When people look at me, they see nothing but pity. Pity has always been a colour I never wanted to wear, but most people paint it on me. No matter how hard I scrub their pity off, someone else tags me. 

What scares me the most, is the ones that bypass the heart completely and focus on their carnal desires. I'm just a pretty face, a pair of tits, a vagina and an ass -  all made for someone else's pleasure. I'm a sexually charged object, viewed as nothing else but a pleasure centre. Men feel entitled to my body, completely bypassing my heart. Sometimes when I get dysphoric, I wish I could be more androgynous. 

Sometimes, on the off chance - people really do see that beautiful, magnificent beast of mine beating steadfast and true. The version of me whose soul garden is flourishing, and has more than enough love to share. She cares too far too much. But as always, people came in with the wrong intentions. They come in pretending to care and be friends, only to have ulterior motives. They come in with the wrong intentions and don't even try to meet her needs. An outright refusal to show any respect or love…

It's heartbreaking. I feel her spider-cracking through my chest in those moments. I try to remind her that their actions are a reflection of them, not her or us in general. Usually, when the cracking starts, that's when the demons that hide in the shadows seep out. Reminding her of how many patterns of the past repeat, cackling that she wasn't even worth a text to let her know that plans have changed. For multiple partners, she'd wait - left wondering what happened. Why she wasn't good enough. I tried to remind her that she is good enough, she was always good enough. It was the bare minimum to show she was loved, and the demons laughed at how to some people - she wasn't even worth the time but kept her ensnared with pretty words. 

I've tried purging her of the demons, who constantly whisper things that have happened long ago. Constantly nattering on about anything and everything to hurt her. How could we fight the voices when people kept proving us right? 

I stared at my heart, pulsating in my hands. Little by little, she was starting to come back to life - but she was fragile. People have tried to ask for it, but I refuse to let it go anymore. Not when so many people promised to help heal it with love and then caused further damage. 

There is nobody I can give her to anymore because the next hit will be the death blow. I don't know how to fix her anymore, and the cavity in my chest is slowly turning more and more dark, desolate and destitute. It's a habitat not suitable for such a creature. 

She's been left out in the cold too long, and the space where she once was no longer can habitat her in this state. I don't want her to die, but I don't have the facilities to help her really live, either.

I pray that someone will come along, and show us the love we deserve. But I'm not sure if we're capable of that right now. Not when there's blood pouring out from my chest onto the ground, my heart beating but in critical condition, and my mind shattered on what to do.

Gods, I pray it doesn't die. Because if she does, what will be left of me?