No, my heart isn’t black.

You can throw things at me, dear universe. But I’ll tell you this; I’ll survive. You’ve thrown all kinds of abuse at me. It came from friends and family, it came as emotional, physical and psychological abuse. You’ve thrown loneliness and pain right towards my being. You’ve thrown failure and mental illnesses. You’ve taken everything that brought me an ounce of joy. You’ve thrown my dad’s death at me. And guess what? I’m still standing.

I might be drowning, dear universe. I might be turning into smoke and mirrors. But I’ll never let you turn my heart black. My beating bleeding heart, the one I wear on my sleeve, is what lets me look at myself with a sense of pride. And you’re not taking that away.

No,  no my heart isn’t black. It’s raw and red, and it’s never been more alive.