You take my arm
Not even seeing
The heart I wear on my sleeve

You take my heart
Not even feeling
The bruises and broken bits

You try to put it back
Not even hearing
The shatter of petrified pieces
Of this vital organ
That seem to fall off
In the process
Of attempted repair

You take my soul
And read it
And never even see
The tearstains on the pages of my life
The one you hold in your hands
And the ones that make up my face

My skin is made of paper
So don’t let me cry
Because that could make the paper rip
Even more than it already has

Don’t touch me
Unless you mean it
Don’t take my heart
Unless you want it
Don’t put it back
Unless you are fully aware of every single reciprocation