I taught myself, at a very young age, just how important the heart is.
I memorized exactly where it was in my chest,
Putting my hand there as often as possible,
As if to ask, “Are you alright in there?”

As I got older, I wanted to feel more.
I ripped my heart out and stitched it onto my sleeve.
I handed it to careless boys who dropped it and squeezed it too hard when they were mad.
I stole my heart back from them, and put it in a secret box.

I locked the box, and hid it under my bed, never letting anyone touch it again.
Waiting for the day when someone will silently hand me a key,
nodding, as if to say, “It’s safe now.”
I lie awake now, praying for that moment, and beneath my bed, I swear

My heart beats louder than ever.

K.A.