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Stone Circlets

Hearts are like boxes,

all locked up tight.

Their keys a mystery,

their locks shrouded in dark.

The secret is not getting in,

but staying in.

The hard part isn't finding the key,

its keeping it.

Cause half the time we're hiding,

behind carefully painted demeanors.

More often than not we're crying,

inside behind locked doors.

Every girls pretty shell,

is merely that.

A shell that can be shattered,

with nothing more thana few words.

She might come off,

like she's ready to take on the world.

But really she's just running,

from all the things life's already dealt her.

Insecurities bloom,

in gardens of doubt.

and gardens of doubt,

are planted by seed of hate.

Hate that we all feel,

hate that we all seal away.

Then broken hearts get matted,

under layers of sweet moss.

Never to be mended,

merely to be left.