Broken Hearted
My heart’s not fully functioning. Its working parts are rusted.
With all life’s empty promises it has become encrusted.
Friends tell me it’s been out-of-use and just needs to be dusted,
but so far no one’s come along that I feel can be trusted.
The truth is, it has been too long since I have truly lusted,
and so although they say that my heart’s just unadjusted,
I’m pretty sure the truth of it is that it must be busted.
Fiction, folks. Really. The prompt word today was encrusted.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Well done!
LikeLiked by 2 people
I didn’t need to read the disclaimer – I figured it was fiction.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Well, sorta….
LikeLiked by 2 people
I guess even the fiction we write is true in a sense in that it come from us.
LikeLiked by 3 people
…and there is often a part of us which feels what we describe, but there are swings, and there are roundabouts.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Nothing written in stone so long as we still feel at all.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a great use of the rather challenging word “encrusted”. Though I do have a loving husband, I will admit that in some ways I feel my ability to make new friends is made more difficult by a figurative encrustment or wall that makes it difficult to let people in to my heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think maturity does that a bit. Partially protective, partially valuing our alone time more.
LikeLiked by 2 people
That’s so true!
LikeLike
I am glad you have this disclaimer at the end – I got worried here for a moment!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I did it just for you, to allay worry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And I appreciate that as I am quite panicky about friends, by nature and by upbringing. 😻
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think it is called heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s also having lived in a county where friends and relatives disappeared without warning, the door bell would ring in the middle of the night, and heart attacks would strike routinely just because of fear.
LikeLike
OMG. Was this in Russia/Soviet Union? I can’t imagine. When I was a little girl, we had a deep closet two-shelved closet that ran under the stairs but opened on the end, so it went from being about five feet by five feet square to being only high enough to squeeze your hand into. It was our “game closet” where we kept Monopoly boards, Scrabble, decks of cards and a million other assorted gamey things. Also, our cupboard to keep sheets and pillowcases and blankets and towels in. For me, however, it was the safe place I thought I’d go to when robbers came. I’d climb up to it by pulling out the three sets of drawers under it and climb way to the back and pull the towels and sheets in front of me. I always wanted to be safe, just in case. For you, this was no fantasy. So, in spite of what I said a few sentences ago, I can sort of imagine the terror. This is why I can’t watch scary movies.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t remember feeling frightened; it was more like living with constant sense of danger. You get used to it, but it’s always there and it makes you go into panic when someone is 10 minutes late. Perhaps I see scary movies as amusing because of very real terror that we had to live with.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There are so many people in the world, I think, that still live with that constant sense of danger. We are so lucky to be able to choose where and how we live. I never forget that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know you don’t; you are a sensitive, empathetic person, and I thank you for understanding.
LikeLike
And the lines are short enough that we don’t feel filibusted.
LikeLiked by 1 person
maybe maladjusted 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person