You Deserve a Gold Medal

for cradling my heart in your palms

back when it would still hemorrhage with hate. 

These days I do not rage at life anymore.

I raise my hand before I am called upon. 

I participate in the body electric. 

And when you think of my body

I bet you still think of brutality. 

A fist thrust through crumbled drywall, 

not a single eyelash left to pick, 

a voice hoarse from cursing the entire world 

over and over, constellations of lilac bruises. 

Yet when I think of your body 

I think of the softest place I’ve ever landed. 

A fan to my flame, a miraculous sedative,

a safe nest where I could play baby bird 

and not have to face the thousands

of death sentences I’d write for myself. 

If I could write you a letter 

I’d tell you how gentle I’ve become. 

Like an autumn morning breeze.

Liquid gold honey dripping from a teaspoon. 

A perfect, unfinished sentence. 

Just like you.

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