yep... my heart's an idiot

It so happens that I have an idiot heart. It gives and trusts and loves too easy. And 99% of the time, it gets broken. It lets itself get trampled on, get devalued and get used. All because it thinks it's being loved. Idiot. And the thing doesn't realize it's not his job to get broken, that's for bones. It's not his job to think, that's for the brain. It's not his job to feel, that one is for the skin. It's not it's job to love, that's not real. It's only function is to pump blood. That's it. Too bad the stupid thing doesn't get it. And then it gets offended when it gets dropped, bruised, bumped, broken. Dropped and broken. How many times have I had to sit and try to put it together. Only the thing goes out on a limb to give bits of itself away. So more and more I end up having less and less of a heart. And while I'm trying to get it together, it shamelessly keeps hurting, as if it was my fault. And then it tries and acts tough, like that was the last time that's ever going to happen. Lies. Foolish thing gets hurt over and over again. I'm running out of bandaids. I'm running out of excuses to make for it. And I'm the one that looks like the idiot. Because that's when the thing decides to stay in it's place and do it's job. Only it pumps extra blood to my face. And when I least expect it someone decides to dump their heart on me too, as if my own weren't enough of a hassle. So here I am trying to protect this other person's heart, and I forget about my own. So it starts by making me blush more. And it starts skip beats more often. And sooner or later it falls in love. Again. Oh stupid thing, when will you learn? Because shortly after, the other person decides they want theirs back. To give to someone else, I wasn't caring for it right. So then they take theirs and mine gets dropped. Time to get the broom and dust pan, I think. Before I know it, it's overflowing in pain, and it takes me with it. So much that I can't concentrate on doing anything. So I have to give it time before I can even try to put it together. Because it makes my eyes fill up with tears, to the point where I can't see a thing. So the day comes when it looks about right, even though it's missing some pieces. It hurts still, but I can live through it. And so I resume life, trying to keep it hidden. Stupid thing... wants to live on my sleeve. Easy target. Gullible even. The idiot everyone laughs at. And I have that as a heart. Great.