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more than

This is to say
I want to write you a lullaby
for the bruises
on your heart.

I want to remind you
that they’re proof
of the body’s defiance,
a mosaic of the night sky,
the sun,
a thousand secrets.

I want to explain
that survival is like this:
a scald of coffee,
a glove left behind,
an unanswered kiss—
you learn to live
a tasteless life,
no salted skin
or apples,
sweet only in its
sameness,
the way want curls in,
learning to comfort itself.

But darling,
you are more than
measured bones,
more than the sanctity of reflex,
more than someone’s
safe choice—
your heart
is not a habit
someone else
can tame.

This is to say
that I have known impossible magic,
thrown open the windows,
called spring
by its first name,
made promises
with my hands—
this is to say,
sometimes,
it’s wonderful
to get what you want.

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Categories: poem, Poetry, Uncategorized
  1. December 14, 2016 at 10:23 pm

    Awesome poem

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