My heart

Once I drew a heart
With a pastel chalk
A perfect shade of red
With gentle contours.

But the color didn’t last.
The heart faded away.

Then I drew another heart
With a child’s crayon
A pointed tip of red
With bolder strokes.

But the crayon broke.
The heart looked empty.

Then I drew the last of hearts
With my own blood
What a mess I made
With crimson drips.

The bleeding didn’t stop.
The heart was wounded.

But at last, now, I have my heart.