My heart

The child you reared

The straight-A student

The hard worker, the one that gives

The disorganized, happy, childish teen

The one who cares too much

My heart, held by your hands

But, is that what I am?

The kid you met one day

The one that was loud and chaotic

The one not scared to just be

The confident young woman

The one who smiles more than not

My heart, now just catering to your experiences

But, is that what I am?

The squirrel-like child, climbing

The fish-like one in the lake

The one who holds on too tight

The one who clings to traditions

The camp I would call home

My heart, safe and unguarded

But, is that what I am?

The grass-stained pants

The scraped knees

The trinkets and rocks and pressed flowers

The messily scrawled poems

The one who watches every sunset

My heart, resting among the clouds

But, is that what I am?

The ground I walk on

The blood I cough up

The sweet oxygen that fills my lungs

The hands that built me

And the thing that I built

This land’s heart, held in my hands

But, is that what I am?

The blood on my hands 

The guilt in my very being

The one of every demographic that kills

White, straight, cis

The one who just wants to stop all of this

My heart, bleeding for humanity

But, is that what I am?

The falling leaves

The coming snow and harsh winds

The change in the weather before spring starts

The birds returning 

Hope, buried in the ground

My heart, among the stored acorns

But, is that what I am?