I'm afraid of my heart on my sleeve and the blood boiling in my throat.

I'm afraid  of my heart on my sleeve and the  blood boiling in my throat.
I've  kept my mouth  shut for so long that if I open it now the blood will all  spill out and there'd  be a horrible mess. I'd try to take it back, to bleed in reverse so that no one would see the feelings all over me. But it didn't work  and now O- would be pooling on  the floor and my body would be crumpled in the middle, quickly losing color. 

I'm afraid that I'd get  myself on you and  you'd cry out in disgust, hastily wiping me off with the corner  of your t-shirt making a  mental  note to add me the shirt  to the pile of junk your  mom is donating to  the DI "sometime this weekend" but she's been saying that  for months so  who knows how long I'll be sitting in your garage in  between  a pair of overalls and a "Worlds Greatest Dad" shirt that he forgot to take with  him  4 months back; or  maybe he left it on  purpose just like he left his kids.

Even though the shirt has been washed on  high  for 3 cycles, I'm still  ingrained in  the  fabric  and I'm afraid of the new person who tries me on at the DI. I'm afraid he'll like the way the shirt fits.  I would tremble to watch as he hands the  cashier  2  dollars. I'm afraid that all  I'm worth is two dollars.  I'm afraid that  I'm worth more.

I'm  afraid of the day he notices me; when he is out mowing the lawn and the sun shines down on his neck so he takes his shirt off to wipe his forehead, but also to   impress the cute girl  across the  street. He notices a little spot of me and  I wait with baited breath to  see if he likes me. But of course he doesn't  because he is seeing a little tiny piece of what's on the inside, but my insides have no place on his t shirt so he throws me into the wash  along with a gallon of bleach and goes on  his way.

I  don't blame him, not entirely; the inside isn't usually pretty.

I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of me.

I'm  afraid that one day you'll have to experience this. I'm afraid that your heart will wander  its way onto your sleeve and you'll be stopped in the hall by a beautiful boy who will rip it  off and raise it above  his head to show everyone. He'll give it a little squeeze and  before you can  tell what's happening your heart will start beating and it will be the most painful thing you've ever felt. I'm afraid that you'll choke back tears as the  crowds laugh at  you  and your heart.   I'm afraid that you'll laugh with them in between  mouthfuls of your own  heart because you'll try  to  convince  them that its not your heart, its  ... chicken. Yes, chicken,  because I'm afraid that's what you'll be,  a chicken.