Dragnet

We grow scales on our hearts with every tear.
They plaster our poor pumps with every year.

Barnacles of barbarism cause us drag.
They weigh down our blood & cause souls to sag.

The best of our selves slings swing off of the side.
They’ve a shucker in hand to, the hull, debride.

They work a thankless job with indentured pay.
Although, without them, we would make no headway.

Bluster can beat against my blood muscle walls.
It’s only our best keeps us from being trawls.