not like hers.
I could rip it out,
break through my shell.
With a hammer, a hatchet,
with the power that manifests
in rage.
Let the crackling
of each bone, like hellish embers,
echo, rattle, shake me.
Become the noise that fills my ears,
head, soul, my body.
The cavity shattering
that holds me together,
keeps it caged.
I’d tear it out and
everything else that works
along with it.
It’s ugly, dark,
it is scarred,
but it beats.
It ticks, at my time here.
At hers, mocking it.
I’d wrap it up
in lovely ribbon, bright paper,
in purple.
I’d make it beautiful
and give it to her.
For hope is
ugly,
no matter how
pure.