Where’s your heart at? They ask me
As though it’s not an ***** in my body
As though it’s not beating in my chest and pumping blood to my organs.
My heart can’t be followed
Because it doesn’t move without me
And my heart can’t be broken
Unless it is punctured by a foreign object.

I appreciate the metaphor, I do, I swear that I do
But sometimes metaphors get a little much
My brain is a metaphor
In the way that it thinks.
Do you see what I did there?
Metaphors run my life, run this world
But sometimes I want to shut it off.

Don’t ask me where my heart’s at
When you know that I’m broken and leaking on the floor
And yet somehow still standing firm and tall.
Don’t tell me to follow my heart
When you know that it’s my thoughts that are jumbled in a knotted mess,
Sans heart,
They’re in a different part of the body after all.

I’m tired of living my life in metaphor
At least for tonight
It’s just an excuse for me to hide behind
A way to add beauty to a desolate place
That otherwise would be of concern
And taken care of
And made permanently beautiful instead of metaphorical façade.

There’s a time for poetry
There’s a time for poetic language
There’s a time to follow your heart and see where it goes
To calm the dragon that is your mind
To walk the cobbled windy streets of your thoughts and ponder

But some days you just have to let it drop
And look at the bleak world around you, no makeup, no photoshop,
To remind you that things have to change.