Sometimes my heart is a rock–hard, impenetrable, safe from abuse, except for that tiny hole that no one sees.
Sometimes my heart is a pear–a skin so thin, so vulnerable that the core lies soft right next to the hardness of life.
Sometimes my heart is a rubber band–stretched here and there, bending, not breaking, but stressed to the point of pain, feeling as if to snap.
Sometimes my heart is broken in bits–seemingly unmendable pieces, pouring out tears and prayers and shouts in the night.
And sometimes my heart begs to be held, begs to be mended with God-songs and promises and forever hopes that soar through open windows on eagle’s words–golden in the middle of the raging.