If your heart was a unicorn

This poem should be read fast. At least thats the way I wrote it to be read. You should not stop for breaths. If this was a script from a Woody Allen film it would come near the end when Woody (the neurotic, insecure lead) would realise that the only way he can win over his love interest (no doubt played by Diane Keaton) is to lay everything out without thinking or editting himself-she needs to know all of him. I’ve been told I do a good impression of Woody Allen, now its seems to have spilled over into the words I write. (transcript below)

'if your heart was made of clay' i shout
'then i would wrap my hands around it and form it into
something else
something new.'

'Like a unicorn.
Unicorns never made anybody unhappy.
and they're made of glitter
and I'm sure they can grant wishes like genies
and ladies who sit on ends of piers
in headscarves
and dresses with beaded fringes
and floral prints.'

'I wish it was a thousand unicorns that would stampede and burst through your chest like that part in The Lion King that I can't watch cos Mufasa dies and it doesn't matter that Simba becomes King at the end and marries Nala and has babies because Mufasa is still dead.

I don't want to die though.'

'and now theres a hole in your chest from the aftermath of the stampede and I would put my hand inside and it would be the first time I got to go inside fully and my hand would be there and you'd smile and I would smile and the clay heart unicorns would be running free through clay heart forests on some new course and music would play amongst clay heart sticks and all the other clay heart animals that had been freed before by someone else.'

'But your heart isn't a unicorn.
Its not even a horse.'