Heart Map

Prompt: Make a map of your heart as proof of identity so that you may pass through the gates into the House of the Serpents.

I have no heart to speak of, my heart is small, soon I will be heartless.
Piece after piece it has been given away, carried off, pulled from its scaffolding, torn away, nerves still attached. Each one a cable through which messages propagate or not, from giver to taker down through the years and back again. When I was young and stingy, each piece was small and subject to much debate. I remember giving such a morsel to a teacher, who placed it on her desk among the others, where it sat neglected until I stole it back at the end of term without her even noticing. I took it home and gave it to my dog, and he cherished it and gave me most of his in return.....

...........My donkey has no name, at least it is kept from me. It took a while, but finally I figured it out....
Like this beast I have no true identity. Through all these years, my inner voice, checked from free expression. Not loss of identity, rather individuality never found. Never time, it was not a priority. Oh sure, I carved out a place in society by relinquishing 'frivolous' pleasures to concentrate on studies, career, livelihood, and the needs and preferences of others. One-by one, the choices that mold a unique persona have been stripped away.
One day, not very long ago, I awoke in the realization that my whole lifetime could pass in personal anonymity. Somehow, I managed to find a remnant of myself, seized upon it and asked, "What would you wish to do, more than anything else in the world?"
The answer came swiftly and I was shocked: "To learn to write expressively."
I never would have guessed it in a thousand years.
How I came to find Soul Food, this animal, and this pathway is an unfolded mystery.
Perhaps I am doomed to linger at the gate forever.