Years ago you separated your ribs and
you’ve never been the same, since;
now you tell me your heart is too riotous
to keep trapped behind a few narrow bones,
and you cry at night when you’re dreaming
of the pain when it finally breaks free
and packs its bags to vanish into the night.
You put a wishbone where your sternum used to be
and now you’re worried someone will come along
and break you in half before you learn how to do it yourself.