be careful

I won't let emotion run rough-shod
over my poor bruised heart again.
I've wrapped it up in cotton wool
to protect it from barbed wire
depression and thorns of love.
I'll keep it under my bed, safe
among shoes and old notebooks
and dust bunnies with no teeth.
It's too fragile for everyday use
so I'll take it out on weekends
and holidays and if and when you
ask to see it, to hold it in your hands,
but only if you promise never
to drop or squeeze or mutilate it,
as you've done unknowingly before.