My heart’s not pretty. It’s bruised and scarred. I’ve walked with it on my sleeve far too long. And it’s brushed against the world hard and strong. Some have pinched it, some have punched it. Others have plucked bits for fun. My heart’s not pretty. But it likes it in the open. It likes to see and be seen. It likes to think there are others like it around. It likes to believe showing itself is the only way to find them, to become found.

(c) Mickey Kumra