I have a crazy tendency to risk my heart too often.
I can put it on like armor which attacks soften.
I'm not sure if I can say whether it's right or wrong;
I know that it's been slowly killing me, all along.
I try harder to hide my love with other tendencies;
By acting like a "player", though they feel like enemies.
I can play around, when I forget how shy I am;
Pick my heart up, from the ground, and stand.
When I talk about my heart worn on my sleeve...
I'm treated like I've got tricks up my sleeves.
... While slowly my heart is bruised and bleeds.
It seems impossible; to start to truly fill its needs.
My mind's warnings; to keep it more guarded...
They're something that I can hardly ever heed.
- J.M.
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