If I put my heart into a photo ...
I can illuminate more of my struggles, my worries, my aspirations and joys. This photo reminds me of the way I see my heart as a muscle. The ventricles and valves and blood surging and pumping and seeking higher ... yet always cycling back through my body as one full circuited system.
I am cursed with a weak heart. I am blessed with a weak heart.
See, because I know that it is all connected. The physical symptoms and signs all tied back to, representing, expressing the pieces of me all yall can't see. The way I struggle to catch my breath right after my heart begins racing. Or the way my heart flip-flops inside my chest like a fish out of water. And I'm weak.
I'm weak because my heart melts when I pass someone who grips the bottom of their t-shirt like that's the closest thing they have to comfort. And my heart aches when I see how even children flinch at the sound of sirens or screeching tires ... or strokes of strong hands. I'm weak because I feel it too.
I'm weak because I know the most vulnerable parts of myself. And even though I struggle tough with showing them, I tap into them when I'm alone ... and sometimes I even sit in it. And the weakness makes me crumble.
I'm weak because I don't know how to stop feeling for the one person who burned me with the fire of 10,000 blaring suns. And I'm weak because I care. I'm weak because I cry for him, even when I know it's wasted tears.
And I'm weak because my heart is heavy, I feel that every day. Weak because I still keep giving, even when I am empty. I am weak because giving silence is easier than giving fear.
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And so when my body aligned with my emotions, sharing in the weakness of it all ... I know that I did something right, because truth was revealed.
And truth came from understanding that only when it all lines up, the destruction of it all, can I truly be in touch with the enormity of my scars.
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