in ,

Trusting Yourself

Mumbled conversations

In her one-two-beat of a heart

That nearly rivals the brain’s intellect

And

The soul’s whim.

Whispers transcend shouts

As humanity overpowers sanity

which explains the infrequency of the pitter patter.

Sometimes

The heart stops altogether.

And in these peculiarities

That make up most of her time,

She trusts her brain or soul

As a dog trusts a master

Or a husband his mistress.

She despises

The leashes it carves around her neck and engraves into her essence.

She despises this

Almost as much as she hates the blunt faith in acknowledging her heart

Due to the pitter patter

And the one-two hope

And how,

More than anything,

These make her feel honest.

Freedom tastes like the heart on a plate;

Fresh and sweet

In the inevitability

Of its decayal.

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