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Monday, April 9, 2012

Human heart

Born weak, born small.
I am a bird protected inside a cage.
Behind my window, I watch as other play.

"You're too precious," they say.
"You're not fit like the others," they say.

But I can't breathe inside this room.
I am restricted by my own body.
This isn't living.

Run. Sometimes I run until I collapse.
My lungs is filled with air.
And I can finally hear my heart beating.

Born weak, born small.
My heart is as fragile as every life I'll encounter.
But that is what makes us so precious.



2 comments:

Paige said...

i love the tenderness of your words, this poem.

Lucy Nguyen said...

@Paige: Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed this poem.

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