broken bones

» grasp

i wear my heart on my sleeves,

pasted to the cuffs of a ripped sweatshirt,

covering the slashed wrist

the ravaged skin

the purple and blue and black

i keep it pinched between my fingers,

grasped in my palm

anyone can find it there, writhing and twisting and out of place;

it's free for your taking,

just give me a reason

you think that makes me open,

a target for scars and scathes and wounds,

a weak little thing shuddering with fear --

but that's where you're wrong;

you can't rip out my heart if i've already done it

because the thing about wearing your heart on your sleeve

is that it's safer there;

better to keep it broken all the time, two halves for two hands,

rather than keeping it whole and pumping and vulnerable in your chest,

it'll do more damage there