My heart is outside my body today.
It’s outside and it won’t come home to me.
Used to strum a ukelele, my heart
was just inside and it was out of tune. 

I was not scared enough back then, now it
runs away, pulls out of my one-armed hug.
My heart hides its face in case someone is
watching. My heart won’t look me in the eye.

My heart is outside in the blistering 
heat. There is dust coating both of its cheeks.
It used to to body slam me, used to roar. 
My heart is outside, and it won’t come
home.