What's On Your Sleeve?

Nonchalance is not in my repertoire.
I wish it were.
Oh! To be flippant and free
from the weight of opinions
and desires,
To not be bogged down
By the whys and what ifs
and maybes.
But me,
I wear not just my heart
on my sleeve,
but my head, my mouth, my skin,
as well.
And it's impossible not to care
When left exposed like that.
I want to cut myself open,
Tuck them back inside
And sew it all back up.
But the crooked stitches would show:
The flaws left out
for visual fodder.
How do you do it?
Or am I just blind
To the seams and organs?