You Wear Your Heart Where?

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I’ve never fully understood this heart on the sleeve thing.  A lot of people mention it when describing themselves.  Whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing, I really can’t say.  After all these years of hearing people talk of their misplaced hearts, I still conjure the image of a bloody sleeve and instantly move on to more pleasant thoughts.  But really, of all places,  who wants a fucking heart on their sleeve?  Even in the metaphorical sense, there has to be a more suitable place to park such a descriptive literary organ.  Why not wear it in your shirt pocket?  It would still be accessible but a little less noticeable.  I’ll wager the pocket would make for a better impression, especially when meeting someone the first time.  One could even use a plastic liner to keep the shirt from staining so badly.  Maybe it’s just me.  After all, if some folks wear a heart on their sleeve, mine is on the floor in the closet somewhere.  Is that why I have a hard time writing from the heart?  I can’t find the damn thing.  I guess I wear my heart crumbled up in my clothes hamper between some sweaty socks and dirty boxer shorts.

And how about this heart of gold thing?…….oh well, another time.

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About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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