I've got tons of time on my hands.

Poetry, anyone?

This Heart

Red ink is cruel.
I cannot write a love poem in red ink,
so I'll write about you.
I'm a little young. I'm way too naive
or so you think.
Who are you to assume the age
that I am on the inside?
This heart has the scars of one
who's endured thirty years of
heart breaking.
It's come back from pain unfathomable.
This heart still holds together,
still holds the courage to love
again and again
and yet, again.
Yeah, what a "young" heart, very "naive".
You should look past my surface.
You'd see that inside, I might be older than you.

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