You crack open my head like a coconut, snap off my wrist, and use my finger as a straw to suck out my water. My hand is a spoon to scoop out my meat. I am carved deep and empty. What remains of my shell is in love with you madly.
True conversion is not the swapping of words, the trading of dogma or the switching of casings that harden the heart. It is when the shells shatter from a swelled heart blossoming that we are truly born again. Read More: Poetry