my heart

My heart

is not made of porcelain.

It is not fine china

or glass.

Apparently,

It's not going to shatter any time soon.

I've stabbed it with hot iron.

People say stuff that pierces it.

I send a thought or two down

To jab at it from time to time too.

And that's how I know that it's not really made of stone either.

When I gave it to you,

You tossed it up, high up in the air,

and ran.

I winced just before it hit the ground,

and that was when I found out that

my heart

is one of those annoying rubber bouncy balls.