Jodie Foster

Rookie (March 27,91 / Myaguez, Puerto Rico)

The Heart - Poem by Jodie Foster

It slowly penetrates the surface,
burrowing deeper into the oblivion.
The cold, bitter sweet stillness
that is, or will become nothing.

Mournfully seeping into the bottom
of what we are proud to possess.
Only to rip yet another sliver
out of what is hardly there.

It is a depressing notion to obtain,
harnessing darkness to a frightening height.
Insanity then fills that bitter sweet nothing,
creating a half-full chamber of tears & shame.

The half-full chamber is then locked,
and the key banished and hidden,
for only the persistant in sight of the key
others are sheltered from this precious object.

Our bodies and minds tear to accomodate
our spontaneously selfish choices in life.
Not knowing is not an excuse anymore,
Reality now burns a hole through our eyes.

It forces us to acknowledge truth and dignity,
it is forever scarred into our souls or minds.
Leaving dead scar tissue to constantly remind us
for the destruction that once was in this world.

But yet, there it is..... dropping onto the floor,
as a dead decaying insect, only to be fed upon,
for others to gaze and gawk... For enjoyment.
Not a soul would dare to help it... A mess.

Trampled. Discheveled. Mutilated..
Spit upon as dirt of the earth. As corrupted soil.
It drags itsself to another location
with yet another chamber to quarrel with.

Repeatedly trying.....unsuccessfully losing.
War with no end, self-sacrifice.
Only to be refused a countless number of times.
And why? Persuit of happiness... happiness?

Define happiness. Money? Clothing?
Happiness is only defined out of observance.
Opinions none- the- less, someone elses happiness.
Is it equal to your own? Do you decide it?

Crawling and begging in the midst of nonstopping cruelty,
searching for hopein the depth of what can be hell.
Happiness is nonexsistant. Only an imaginative mirage.
Playful at the thought, but a lie within itsself.

This poor pitiful thing just happens to be,
Love.... the thing we chose to abuse the most.
We set it aside.. forget it...mistreat it, and still hope.
How confusing a thing, for our hopeless hearts.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 30, 2009

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