(...I don't even like poker, anyway)

I wear my heart on my sleeve

because that is the only place it fits.

In my chest, it fills so fast that I think I might burst;

and I’ve learned

(the hard way)

that ticking time bomb is a nasty force to be reckoned with.

I know I’m supposed to play close to the chest,

so the world can’t see the hand I hold

but I?

I don’t have a poker face.

Sunglasses wouldn’t help

and a hat can’t hide hurt 
or hope                                           

when they’re in my eyes.

Because when I love, I don’t have to shout from rooftops

because the sound of my smile is a Jericho trumpet,

crumbling any walls that try to hold in my heart,

And my eyes rain a sea of surprise

because I can never believe its possible

to love so much.

And when I’m happy?

when

I.

am.

happy.

everything I touch turns electric!

and I grow wings that carry me far above this world

to a place where no one can touch me,

and so I sit on clouds and bask in the warmth of perfect joy.

But please believe,

that when I’m angry

you can see the vitriol course through my veins

and feel the heat from my skin as my blood boils

and I shake

and rake

the subject of my hate

over the coals of my mind

without regret

or second thought...

It has been brought to my attention

that I should be less emotional,

but that would require me to be less

and I’ve been down that road and I didn’t care for the scenery:

the trees had no leaves

and the flowers were dead.

So thank you kindly for your opinion

But if you don’t like my words, you don’t have to read them.