When you know what has been on my mind,
Insecurities and heartache, I let you find,
You behave as though a fly buzzed past
Which was more insignificant that the last.
My exposed heart burst with frantic pain,
So I pick it up and squeeze it once again.
I don’t like to see it fallen at your feet,
Your nose turned from the smell beneath.
I don’t like my blood upon your shoes,
You’ll be hampered if your laces come loose.
And I wouldn’t want you to soil your hands,
They are needed to care for your sought-after glands.
The appendages of others, too, need your tending,
So I pick up my heart – it’s just a matter of bending.
I want to let the poor, smelly thing die –
But I can’t let it – I don’t know why!
Perhaps some other hands
Were made to let it rest –
Hold and love it, seal and protect it,
Though within my chest.