Mash'd ...

I'm not only the exterior you see...

The skin and bones all just make believe,

What hides within is a soul so light...

I could float or bloat or stand for hours upright.

I'm not only the red eyes you see...

The exhaustion, the pain just temporary deals,

What drives me daily isn't my job or what I drank...

I am the Titanic, the million dollar movie, not the boat that sank.

I'm not just the skinny man-child you see...

The witty shirt, slow walks all part of me,

What keeps me happy is none of your doing...

I could laugh and cry, all at once, without thinking.

I am my own darkness and my own light...

I am my own silence and my own fight,

I am mostly aloof but I am also involved...

I am a kid in phases, in phases evolved.

I am also my mind...my thoughts and my words...

I am all the unseen, I am all the unheard,

I am all that follows hereon...

and also all of the above. 

I am whimsy and I am flimsy...

I am complicated and I am clumsy,

I can be sassy and I can be a nerd

I can be the one movie you don't understand 

or the one shitty book you've all secretly read.

I am all the brains...

I am all the heart,

I am all the wit...

I am also the smarts.

I am the one who messed up...

And the one who paid a hefty price,

I am the one you probably hate...

And also the one you probably like.

I am my own being...

In no ways am i rehashed,

And yes I've spelt it wrong, but that's how...

I AM MASHD!

Old heart of mine...

It wasn't what it anticipated,

It was way more love than it deserved...

This old heart of mine was new back then,

And it wondered ... "What in the world!!"

It pumped blood for a living,

But wondered if it was the right job...

For so much of the love it received,

Was for everything else but blood.

It was joy when she smiled, 

It was pain when she shrugged...

It dreamt of growing old with her

Yet it listened to the head, 

Stupid head which said it must not...

It beat itself up for years, 

For that one day it let the head decide.

It beats itself now as well...

Seventy times a minute to be precise

It stops the blood to the brain now at times,

It was the brain which had done wrong...

But the heart grew older as the pain progressed,

The loud dubs dubs were slowly gone.

In guilt, it split itself one day...

Into four pieces the old heart fell,

Ventricles and aortas people called them...

But all pieces were just reminders of hell.

Attacks became a common occurrence,

These were part of the punishment it surmised...

Docs always considered these minor incidents,

And the old heart knew minors won't suffice.

The old heart beats now as it must,

but barely so it does...

Most nights now this old heart aches,

And most nights now this old heart breaks,
Rest of the time it silently pumps blood.