pipe me down.
Play the holes in my heart
that swallow love
and slowly heal.
— Moineddin Jablonski
Play the holes in my heart.
My heart is full of holes.
There’s a hole for my daughter, my little girl lost.
There’s a hole for each of the babies I will never have.
There’s a hole for all the years I denied my power.
There’s a hole in my heart for the times I was abused.
There’s a hole for all the times I hated myself.
There are holes in my heart, as numbered and varied as the footprints on my path.
But play my heart, please.
Listen to the song I sing, brought forth from my pain.
Born out of despair, the melody of my life made all the more beautiful by the light I shine.
My heartbeat, the drum. My tears fall, cleansing, emptying even as I fill with something more.
Without sorrow, we would fail to appreciate the joy. Without the darkness, how would we know the warmth of the light?
I am journeying. I am spiraling up a long and winding path, learning as I go. Feeling afraid, losing myself in the darkness of disconnection. And still, I walk on.
And still I breathe. Still I wander ever closer to the light.
And still I play, note by clay note, the song of my slowly healing heart.