Soft heart, shit world
Ever had that feeling you were born in the wrong generation? Wrong time period? Wrong anything?
I don’t. But I feel like I don’t belong anywhere; with anyone. The people around me put up walls, expectations, rules on how to live and behave and grow as a person.
I’ve been told I should be meaner. Less trusting. More closed off and picky in the people I socialize with.
But my heart isn’t made of brick or concrete. Hell, it’s not even made of glass where it’s only safe for a while until something shatters it. My heart is made of feathers. Easily pluck-able, crushed under heavy weights and blown away by the breath of a child.
This isn’t a bad thing of course, not on a daily basis anyway. I am friendly, open to new conversations and ways of life I’ve yet to discover. My goal is to be happy in life and action and I want people to be happy and full of a sense of completion in their own lives. Yet those around me don’t share my soft heart. They step on mine to cushion their feet and fill their pillows to sleep while I toss and turn in the night.
And yet, I still love my heart.
