I stand before you empty,
My heart with love
Or dis-virgin it
With the bile of rejection.

Write notes
On this empty slate
That is my virgin heart
And pluck me on love's strings:
A lullaby or a dirge.

Mold me,
Soft and willing, I'll be-
The formless clay
In your hands
Waiting to be shaped.

I shall be
What you make of me
For now I am
But an  emptiness
Seeking to be filled.


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