Sleeved Heart.

I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, so exposed--wounds at the slightest provocations.
My hurt would ache and burst, damage for damages' sake.
It bled to death and dried up.
I took it in my fists and crumbled it to dust to scatter in the winds
where the gusts carried it across the world and to everything within,
and my heart found new life in life and death.
Breathed anew, my love abounds in all things, and my heart is everywhere, but on my sleeve.
-Fin

So, I don't know how I feel about this one. I think it kind of gets the idea across, but I am unsure of whether to make it poetry or prose and I think the writing structure and flow suffers from my uncertainty. Either way, I'm posting it as is, and if I ever get around to editing it, then I will edit it.

What do you guys think of this one, any suggestions for me?

-AiG