Trying

I sit here making my fingers do a dance across my keyboard,
But something is missing.
The heart.
I yearn for the days I could sit down and type out my feelings in beautiful sonnets.
Though my mind reminds me that, that was so long ago.
I wonder why it had to leave, and suddenly I sit here crying.
Crying because something I held so dear to me is gone.
Words were my only way to understand the world and how it can be so cruel.
Words were my Rosetta Stone to understand how my heart can pump but not feel.
Then suddenly all I am is a Jukebox in a run down diner with surprisingly good pie.
I sit and wait.
Not being able to do anything unless someone tells me to.
They give me coins, which I only pass on to other people.
In return, I search inside myself and try to play their favorite song.
Yes, I'm out of date, but it seems to me that empathy is too.
And on that note when I'm broken and can't use myself to please you,
I beg of you to not hit me repeatedly or throw me in a junkyard.
Because you may be made of bones, and I of screws, but I'm trying.
And just as a pointer I've found I reply a lot better to caring than abuse and abandonment.