Beating Hearts

Beating Hearts

I’ve had this blanket since I was born,

Its baby pastel pink background and cute red hearts adorning it.

never once had I thought of the similarities this blanket would have to growing up.

You see what are we but the things we grew up admiring?

Some people want to be like their parents.

But I just want to be like… this blanket.

People don’t understand that I don’t carry it around because I am a child.

I carry it as a reminder to myself that I can be a living symbol,

SO warm and inviting, but torn in a spot right down the middle…

I keep swearing that it will be patched up.

But I haven’t gotten around to that yet.

Just like how I haven’t gotten to fixing myself as of late.

I keep saying I WILL get better!

My mom would always say “it takes time to grow into shoes”
But what about the shoes that will be too big for me to ever fit into!

I don’t have an answer to that one

after all I know is the comfort this object brings.

I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes grasping onto a single heart on my blanket.

Reminding myself that I too have a pulse and it is still beating,

That with mistake or heartbreak, I can still be human and if it’s not that at least I am alive.

And every tear there is a person willing to fix it.

And in return I will share my radiant heat and worn love.

Because I guess after all I am not the only one with growing up to do.

-Michaela Coombs

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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