You Wear Your Heart Where?


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.


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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