Her heart
Had violin strings,
And she played them
As if she had been
In a recital.

But those strings…
They kept bending
With the music,
And her feet had made
The floor creak.

Every once
And a while
A string…
It would pop off
As if it had broke.

She played too hard.
She cried while
She kept selling her
Love
As if it were music,
That nobody could hear.

Silence, and
Music to her ears.
She liked to pretend
At this very moment
That she had love,
And that something was
Real.

But the only thing
That happened to be
Real,
Was the
Pain.

And it was the one
Thing that had ever kept her breathing,
Because yes,
She is vulnerable.

And she may or may not
Be content.
No one will know,
Because nor does she.
She is just…
Numb.

Just like usual.
She cried her tears.
She wept for days,
And now they’ve dried up.

And her pain
Stole her breath,
So she played her strings again,
But this time…
They made a beautiful
Sound.

And it may be a lament,
It may be sad,
But at least it is a sound,
Notes that had flowed
Out.
Out of her head

As if it were poetry
In pages of a book,
To be surely
One-hundred-and-ten-percent
Misunderstood.