Rip my heart from my hand

by You Have My Word

There you stand.
I hold my own heart
in my own hands
and truth is, however much you want to,
you will never understand.
I’m a man.
Damn!
Nobody gets it
even in this poetry slam
and I’m spitting all I can
with the only words I know
how to han-
dle.
I handle my heart too –
you wish it were you,
whether you say it’s true
or not.
I’m scared my heart –
like my favourite china tea cup
thin, like my grandmother on her deathbed –
will be dropped.
I can’t help but think of the rot
that will set in
when you realise it’s broken.
So you walk away
like a loose-canon fan out a stadium
because you can’t bear to watch
the game be lost.
If I hold my heart
I know it will be safe –
safer with me than with you
and I can handle knowing that I need you
but don’t want you
because you see through
everything I try to put up.
You tear it up
and it ticks me off because,
don’t you know how long it took me
to put that barrier between us?
Now it’s gone.
Now I have to trust
even if I get there with clenched fists
and fights in the dust
right next to my heart that you dropped
and didn’t clean up –
I must!
So man,
here I stand
holding out my hands.
One holds my heart so you can take it
and the other you can grab
and hold,
so I won’t be able to take it back
and I’ll continue to stand
by your side
and I really hope you understand
that I will not be able to take it
if you break it,
if you crush my heart into the sand –
shards and grains of dirt and earth.
So hold tight
and we just might
make it work
again.

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