Small cracks in my chest
open wide once or
maybe seven times a week.
It is not always so bad.
I am a child,
overwhelmed with all of
the hope and despair
of being something
that has never before been.
Something so fragile
and so small.
Darkness will fall and 
I will cry in my nervous way.
I will tremble in my fear.
I will crack and break and be remade
night after night.
Ever the child come morning.
I hope I never grow up.