When I was a small child,
I would ride my bike, just outside my home
On the cobblestone and try to balance with accuracy.
Now and again, I would fall, and scrape my knee.
Mama would always come running, her face twisted with worry
And hold me against her warmth, kissing my boo-boos,
Whispering so calming that "it'd be okay",
That I would "soon heal right back up".
Just as all small children do, I grew.
Life went on for me and Mama was sure enough
To be found correct, I did heal.
But now, knee scraping are not what I feel pain to...
When I try to balance out my love, and it all comes crashing down...
I surely scrape my heart, but as Mama always said, it would heal.
This healed a bit more slowly...
And hurt much more as it began to scar over the years,
My love being taken advantage of, bruising my heart's outer flesh...
And now, ready to explode from inner pain...
I search for my Mama, oh where can she be to mend this
Organ, no more than clothes now stitched together.