My heart is fragile —
it can be crushed with a whisper,
shattered by silence.
Yet somehow, it holds so much—
has sheltered wanderers,
fed the ungrateful,
and offered pieces of itself like confetti
on a windless day.
My heart is fragile,
and its longing runs deeper
than I ever dared admit.
I give it away too easily—
still pressing it to my chest
as if I could keep it whole
while offering it in parts.
Some people did not deserve
my warmth, my softness,
the way I saw gold in their shadows.
They took —
and left fingerprints on everything.
But now,
I think it’s time to clear the rooms.
To open the windows wide
and let the stale air flee.
To dust the forgotten corners
and throw out the keepsakes
that were never kind to me.
I will sweep out the sorrow,
polish the joy,
and plant peace in every hallway.
No more clutter made of “maybes”
and “what ifs.”
This heart—
though cracked and quietly stitched—
is still mine.
And I want it to feel like home again.
So I’ll lock the doors to those
who walk in with muddy feet
and careless hands.
And I’ll leave the porch light on
for love that knocks gently
and stays.
-Wendy-
YOU ARE READING
From The Inside
PoetryA collection of a few, simple poems that i started writing a few years ago and some recent ones as well. "From The Inside ," is about my life stories and experiences in poetry form and what takes places inside my heart and mind.
