Am I too honest or are other people not used to it?

Am I numb in all actuality or utter words of happiness for maybe I will be? 

Am I heartless to see no one but myself because I think I’ve been beat down enough? 

You see my thoughts are on a treadmill, ascending with speed racing to find a heart. For it went through the highways of my veins, finding no air in my lungs, vacuum in my guts, a spineless back, full lips but a mouth hollow of a tongue, and a heart? A heart? 

I go back and forth studying the timeline of my past, searching every crevice, corner, fold, scar, tear, fists and needy dicks to know where exactly I let it go. 

And I say let it go and not lost or thrown because I know it was a decision I’d made. 

I know that at some point, somewhere around October 5, where my soul no longer wanted anything to do with me, somewhere maybe there near 12am did I decide I had no use of a beating heart and lay it on the bed where my purity shed. I believe I said a tiny prayer or maybe a question, “What did I do wrong?” I believe the question never left me, and I believe I came to the conclusion that my whole being was misunderstood and I no longer deserved a heart to love. 

But maybe it was September, in a hotel room, with words so cruel they reached the hotel hallway? Or maybe it was when I was 15 in my parents bedroom as I saw them silently agreeing that my fear was invalid and I was in the wrong? 

Where ever it is, I pray or maybe wonder that where ever it is, will it be happy to rid itself of me? 

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