My unsad heart likes to overflow
I don’t how to be truly sad
Nor do I know how to be truly happy
My range is extraordinary
In moments, and unexpectedly so
But in general, I’m
An emotional lie that walks
I don’t talk very much
But my face has a heart
And my sleeves have flowers
But finally there is no difference
Emotion is a social conduit
Fine, it’s trampled me asunder
Like a poem that never ends
All these faces remind me
Of phrases I haven’t written yet
I’m alive in florescence
Unified in theory, divided
In the shyness and immaturity
I don’t know how to be truly social
Nor do I yearn to be truly
Not alone: it’s hard to define identity
Like a uselessly full glass of ourselves.
Wuji Seshat 
the picture makes this all the more special.
i love description of oneself, so colourfully metaphoric, cheers darling, please and thank you for allowing me to meet you!
Thanks Toad, I always appreciate you coming around 🙂
Your welcome!
Interesting, but rather sad. Is the conduit of emotion the tool by which the facade produces a caring heart?
I think the caring heart is inborn like an instinct, but too harsh an environment can easily stunt it’s natural expression (being an evolutionary tool itself)….
this poem is beautiful, every bit of it!
Thanks Zara, it wasn’t so easy to write.