On My Sleeve

On My Sleeve

The oldest thing I wear
Is my heart on my sleeve.
I tend, as people share,
To listen and believe.
Maybe I shouldn’t care,
As they, my heart, bereave.
The things they say can tear
This heart that’s on my sleeve.
I’ve worked so hard, but there
Are those who would conceive
To tear me down. I bear
The wounds which I receive.
Perhaps my heart laid bare,
Gives them thrills to deceive.
I must admit that they’re
Right sometimes, but I leave
The oldest thing I wear
Right there on my sleeve.

Copyright 2025 Kaci Rigney