Wearing one's heart on one's sleeve

isn't all it's cracked up to be

at least my heart

an inarticulate fellow

is wont to bellow.

Not with wagging tongue

for it has none

but by making my blood run cold

when me it wishes to scold.

But what really tries our common soul

is when some old woman bold

approaches on the street, saying,

"Look at this hearty fellow with such a healthy glow

I've just the thing to keep him so."

She'll pull out a pink baby bonnet then

which she'll wrap around my now quickly pumping organ

which, if it had a mouth

would take her hand off at her elbow.

Thanking her kindly

I'll hurry away

but not before my heart has made my blood start to boil.

But there are other things harder still

for one who would wear his or her heart on their sleeve

for when I try and lie

my heart begins to gasp and wheeze

 in a way that belies my lie.

But what can be hardest of all to bear

is when I try and tell another, "I love you",

when my heart doesn't agree.

How it'll turn black then there on my sleeve

and rattle and sigh

until I withdraw that particular lie.

But harder still is when I say "I love you"

and the one I speak to turns away.

How my heart then turns ashen and cold

and how it cries

even though it doesn't have eyes

tears of blood that run red on my cheeks

not rosy now or red

but cold, pale, and dead.

So think twice

before you decide to wear your heart on your sleeve

for sometimes it is best to grieve

in the privacy of one's own heart

alone but free

unseen by cold, prying eyes

and hands that would put a pink knit cap over one's grief

and tell you things are all better now

all better all better all better.

Just another lie one's heart will always belie

when it wishes to grieve.