Tar Heart

The world gave to me a soft face and a dark heart. So, that when I look in the mirror I do not see me reflected truly. I do not see who I am but a delicate rendition. I see a false version of my heart. I see a welcoming foyer when I want to be a fence of thorns, but I cannot be who I am not. I cannot be against destiny. I am the growing garden. I am not the dark pit. I want to be the tar but I am, unfortunately, the terrace.