The heart isn’t rational, it doesn’t care about the reality of how things are. It just feels, and gives us that hope that sometimes clouds what’s real.
My mom, my family, my friends, and lovers, they’ve always praised it.
What you ask?
Well my big heart.
They’ve always told me that having such a heart was a privilege to have, a unique gift in deed.
My mother would say…
Being nice will always bring you good karma.
People will always envy your strenght and courage, because they know that even when times are bad you’ll always come out on top.
My family would say…
We love how you don’t fight for the pointless things, you always let things go and let god take care of what you can’t control.
My friends would say…
You’re always here when we need you, and you listen to our thoughts.
You are caring, you go the extra mile and you always try.
You’re a shoulder to lean on, when someone needs to cry.
My lovers would say…
You are so compassionate, and you believe in (me.)
You don’t give up, and you fight for the both of us.
You don’t hold grudges and you truly forgive.
You give so many chances, and still trust in thee.
All these things were nice to hear, and I know it benefit them all…
But why wasn’t anyone ever honest with me?
Why didn’t they say that being this way would also affect me in deed?
People know how to take advantage of me, assuming I’ll always be “okay,” because I am strong.
Why didn’t they tell me that being nice would bring me more tears than smiles, pretty rainbows, and graceful love?
Why didn’t they tell me that wearing my heart on my sleeve would get me hurt, for the most part?
Why didn’t they warn me, that people would always know that it was the perfect weapon they could use against me?
Isn’t it crazy?
That no one could tell me that what they loved so much about me, is the one thing that would destroy me?
and this was something they all knew…