My heart is holding back. It knows what its passion is, yet it is scared to pursue it. I’m scared to pursue it. How does the oldest child, the genius, the salvation of the family, say they want to heal with words instead of medicine? Want to leave the briefcases and the plans behind and create instead of sell? Want to lead the revolution instead of the so-called free world?
My heart is holding back. How do you tell a girl you want to watch cartoons and eat PopTarts and kiss with frosted strawberry lips when you know she’d only do that with a Bob or Joe? I know we’d be a sparkler of romance like all teenagers- bright and quick- but I crave that burst of heat and light and earthbound starshine like anyone else.
My heart is holding back. I want to tell anyone- or him or her- everything that sits turning radioactive in my soul, but my heart tells me it’s not safe, secrets as heavy as silence rest on my shoulders, making me tire in the middle of the day, dozing in another cup of coffee.
My heart is holding back, but I am ready to flow through.