The Girl Who Once Wore Her Heart On Her Sleeve

She was a girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. Who would sit on the floor in her living room on Saturday mornings watching Disney movies. Ones with prince charming, a magical kiss, talking animals and happily ever after. She took in every word and played it back in her head over and over.

She was a girl who still wore her heart close to her sleeve. Who would believe the love she saw between her parents was real. That her father shouting and hitting her mother was the intense love we all search for. She would search high and low to find that love, through boys with bloodshot eyes and slurred words complimenting her.

She was a girl who wore her heart dangling on the outside of her skin. Who would let boys take it and stomp it to the ground. Pull it apart in every direction until it snapped. But then they would kiss her intensely and brush their fingers on the curves of her body and she would forgive them.

She was a girl who wore her heart caged inside her chest. Who would let boys inside her without her permission, an unwelcome visitor who choked the words she so desperately tried to scream out. They went uncalled. And they got what they wanted.

She was a girl who wore her heart in someone else. Who gave everything she had to a boy she believed could save her. Because for her whole life, she didn’t know how to say those three words with meaning. So she gave him everything, body and soul.

She was a girl who wore her heart to the very end. Who watched the boy she slept with almost every single night and bared her secrets and skin to smash it into pieces that went everywhere. Because his heart belonged to another girl she didn’t know about.

She was a girl who wore her heart nowhere. Who was tired of letting unwanted boys chip away at her heart until there was nothing left to hold it. So she picked up the pieces she could find off the floor and with tear-stained cheeks, threw them away, and smiled.