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If I had the chance I would apologise to my brain on behalf of this world that gives the heart credit where it's not due.

I would say hey, listen,
I'm sorry everyone is so ignorant but me,
I know your prefrontal cortex makes me who I am,
your amygdala scares me,
your hypothalamus ensures that hunger overcomes my laziness,
your hippocampus has given me some unforgettable memories,
your cerebellum takes care that I don't become a cold blooded reptile,
Wernicke's area is the reason I'm able to write this poem and
thanks to Broca's area I could recite this if I wanted.
And I know that when I envisioned this poem I was high on dopamine but as I'm coming to an end it's the endorphins that are telling me, that's it, you did it, here's your reward.

So I'm sorry, brain, that the heart gets credit for all of your hard work, merely because it can be romanticised. But if I were you, I wouldn't feel so bad.

After all, you're smart enough to be the only organ to have ever studied itself.