A tourist in Paris

I was thinking
And I haven't visited as often as I used to
And I realized why

This used to be my way of pretending there was someone listening

And when I don't feel heard
Or I can't seem to express myself

I come here

I sit beneath a shadow of thoughts
Lie in the grass of disexpression
Lean on the tree of imaginary friends
And I share my heart
Expressing it to the wind where human hands cannot grasp it
And thieving words cannot phase it
Broken souls cannot shake it

And beating hearts cannot hold it

I know this is an escape, but maybe I've been using it for the wrong reasons. And maybe its time that I allow my heart into the real world again
With cold, red ears to listen
And trembling hands to hold
Scraped knees to kneel beside me
And a broken heart to heal my own

I realize I want to run
And keep to myself
But my heart won't live long here in Paris
And I need to come home

~JQP