My poor, glass heart

has been jumbled around,

insulted, kicked.

It has been dented,

chipped, flicked.

What's more, is that

it has been left

lying on the floor.

Stepped upon, stomped,

bruised all over.

It's as though I

carry an unlucky clover.

So, please, I beg you!

Be careful with

my poor glass heart;

I fear even just one

more hurt will

tear it apart.