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Broken and beaten and stomped into dust

What’s taken out rarely is left to rust.

Covered in ice, frozen rime and decay

Waiting for someone that cares to come along and say

“You matter, you’re worth it, your place is assured,

You once cared for others this cold is absurd.”

Not knowing they wonder and ponder the chill

Not seeing or caring but demanding more still.

They cajole and they promise they plead and they cry

Yet never once will they seek the reason why

Their reasoning is sound and their voices are loud

They think themselves saints as they speak to the crowd.

But their backs are to me as they ask for my heart

They demand that I stand up, I care, and that I do my part.

Not once do they notice, not once do they see,

The cold of my heart does not define me.

My heart is not hardened or chilled by the live that I live.

I choose when to use it, and when I will give.

If you find frost on my heart, be warned sure and fair.

There is warmth if you seek it, should you but dare.

-the warmth of a person’s heart is not to be expected to extend to everyone on a whim. It is their choice who to embrace, and who to keep at a distance.

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