An hourglass figure

I have an hour-glass figure.
When lying on my bed,
my stomach is flat and narrow,
my curves are where they should be
and I can pretend to be young.

I have an hour-glass figure.
It shows when I stand up,
and gravity comes into play,
it doesn't play fair
and I can't pretend to be young.

I have an hour-glass figure.
It shows as time goes by,
as every moment passes
more of the weight from the top
falls down to my bottom

 

 

 

 

Heart of stone.

I have a heart of stone within my breast,

it cannot melt with joy to see one face

nor bound and jitter with great love, just rest

in sullen misery, it beats one pace.

This heart of stone is never light as air,

it doesn’t swell to choke my breath with glee

but sinks into my stomach with despair

and drags my wayward soul to apathy.

And yet, though made of stone, it is not free

from damage by the world that passes by,

it’s worn by constant tight anxiety

and pulverised by each unanswered cry.

My heart of stone lies heavy in my breast,

and with my soul, longs for eternal rest.  

This is for JL's prompt on Dodge Writes.

Thanks JL.