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I am not a heart;
Palpitation’s a choice I gave up.
I am just a rock;
By precipitation made tough.
The tears you cry leave me numb
Like icy rain on a wintery morn.
You tried to wrap me in blankets of warmth;
But I’d rather be the flint gathering moss.
I make my hermit burrows deep in the earth;
Where you’ll never know to dig or to mine.
I know I’ll leave you with furrows and dents;
And make holes overflowing with brine.
My edge is rough; my form’s serrated.
I’m full of sores and gangrene infested.
Chop me off; use fingers and teeth.
Blot me out till my evil’s deceased.
I am not your heart.
So darling, give me up.
I am just a rock;
And my core is very dark.
meet the poet: Davids Ezimako
