“You feel too much
With this, mire”
She says with
Three taps over her heart
“Whatever, you’re wrong”
I close my eyes and hide away
Underneath my blanket
If it weren’t for the
Cry that’s stuck in my throat
I’d tell my mother she’d be right
If it were yesterday
When I gave out my heart
Like a red handkerchief
It was pulled and wrung
And trampled and mishandled
But today, my mother is wrong
Because my heart
Is no longer much of a heart
Like the ones I’d write about
It is just a misshapen organ
That does not have
A single beat to give
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