I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the slowdown.

If there's one thing my kids tease me about more than anything, it's my sensitivity.

They lovingly tease me, I should add.

What can I say?

I have a tender heart.

I often cry during movies. Hamnet about did me in this year.

I get emotional about anything from a sunset to a commercial. The news undoes me.

Frankly, I don't know how anyone isn't undone by the news lately.

My sensitivity might be both my superpower and also my kryptonite. Still, I can't imagine having a different kind of heart,

although sometimes I wish mine were a little tougher, not so easily bruised.

What would it be like to listen to Sufjohn Stevens and not tear up?

What would it be like to watch a character die on screen or on the stage and not feel it deeply?

Yes, I know those people are only acting, and I don't know them personally anyway, but I can't help but grieve in that moment. And yes, if my kids are with me, they'll give me that look, or nudge me when I start to

sniffle and wipe my eyes. It's now sort of a bit between us. If I had a different kind of heart, a tougher heart, would I be able to see what's

happening in the world around me and not feel so brokenhearted? What would it be like to be able to sleep through the night, unbothered?

I can't imagine feeling less or caring less.

That's not the heart I have.

I love that the speaker of today's poem is big-hearted and knows it, owns it.

Sorry not sorry, he seems to say.

Pardon my heart by Marcus Jackson.

Pardon my heart if it ruins your party. It's a large American heart and has had a good deal to drink.

It's a pretty bad dancer, too much feeling, too little technique.

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