My Hamburgered Heart

The pinnacle of my poetry...thus far. Maybe I should write childrens books

Once in grade school, the 4th grade I think, the teacher brought a cow's heart to show us.
A real one, still cold from the fridgerator where it had been preserved.
That smooth heavy heart, complete with valves and veins and stuff...
We were told it was to be made into hamburger, and I believed it, but tried not to think too much about it.


When I met you my heart was made into hamburger.
I imagine one of those wine presses where the employees or owners or whatever,
They get into the vat of grapes and stomp and stomp and stomp.
You got your jollies off of squishing your toes through my hamburgered heart.
Me in that vat, I was rare and red and alive from the pain of being so mutilated.
But it felt good, kind of like when you exacerbate a sore so it won't hurt as much after you've pushed your pain levels to the maximum...

But you had to go home at the end of the day, a human wine-press has to sleep.
Really unfortunate, because my heart was left unrefridgerated that night.
Bacterias, what I always imagined looked like those little candy nerds, but smaller,
They came and started chewing on me...it itched at first, but then they started really eating.
I guess I didn't mind 'cause it was pain and reminded me I was alive.
But they started pooping where they ate.

You came back the next day for another stomp in the vat.
You didn't know about my new friends yet, although you did wonder why maybe I wasn't as red and raw as the day before.
I vicariously felt your pleasure as your toes squished some more, and you kind of knew that you were squishing through my hamburgered heart, but I allowed it, and you liked it.
But another day ended and you had to go to sleep.

Those wooden vats on stilts don't keep meat very well.
My bacterias were procreating, eating and pooping all in that vat with me, the nerve.
I started to smell and I think I was starting to die.
When you came back you noticed that I didn't smell right, but you stomped some more, not wanting to hurt my feelings by admitting I smelled.
Um, my heart was already hamburgered you moron.

The day after that, you brought a clothespin t0 clip on your nose.
It was embarrassing, the fact that I smelled and everyday you came fresh from sleep, from the shower, from life.
What had I done to my heart!?
You can't shower hamburger.
But you assured me that you still loved most of me, it was only a certain part that you couldn't stand, but that clothespin solved all our problems.

And it did.
Until the day I threatened to infect you with my friends...the bacterias of course.
You were having none of that.
I was falling apart anyways. You can only squish hamburger so many times before it becomes something more like puree, and that's gross.

Too bad I didn't hamburger my heart for a chef...or even someone with an electric grill.
I could have been fried up when I was fresh
Garnished with tomatoes and lettuce, a mustard smiley face adorning my own.
Consumed by that one, becoming quite literally part of him.
I would have gotten to stay safe and unharmed in the muscles of his arms or something!
Both of us keeping the other one alive....

Instead, I hamburgered my heart and put it in a vat for you to squish your toes through.
That was a pretty stupid move.
But it might not have mattered anyway...I don't think they made that cow's heart into hamburger after we all touched it,
They probably just threw it away.