My Heart

My heart is a piñata
Beaten until the sweet contents pour
Scattered across a cold concrete floor
Childish women push and shove to get every morsel
Confectionaries that delight the limit of their soul
So pleasing to the palate and content of their mind
But the true essence they seldom find
My heart is a piece of paper
Scattered by the whispers of wind
Written on by poetry of the past glory and sins
Astute women chase the sacraments to read the rhymes
Morsels of wisdom and grace seasoned by time
So uplifting and inspiring to their spirit and heart
But the true meaning they are blind to from the start
My heart is a stone
Hardened by the seasons of rain and drought
Tattered by the bastions of pain and doubt
Wounded women grasp hold of the cold solid formation
Anchored to the crevices and peaks of affirmation
So sturdy and dependable to steady their vision
But they don’t see or discern the excision
My heart is a flag
Tattered by the indiscriminate breeze
Pardoned by the perpetual bending of the knees
Curious women examine the stitches the threads
Fixated on brining light and life back from the dead
So venerable that they respectfully give salute
But they don’t recognize the depth of its roots