Thread Heart

I wear my heart on my sleeve,
like a soldier.
See, it's sewn in deep red fabric.
Bold black lines draw pictures across it.
What are those?
Stitches from when I had to sew it back together.
Pretty damaged huh?
Look closer and you'll see patches.
Gold. Blue. Green.
Name any color and it's there.

Stitched gracefully so I don't hurt myself more.
Very rarely though, I prick myself with the needle.
When I do I guess I must've been thinking of him,
or him, even possibly him.
All of them ripped and cut my heart.
Promised never to hurt me.
I trusted them.
My mistake.

Now I sit here and sew and stitch and mend
the fabric of my heart back together.
Though through pain, tears and heartbreak,
my torn heart is still presented proudly on my sleeve.