That I might stay kind
even when I want to bite,
put my sword down
and not worry how unprotected
I’ve become to the wounds
others would lay on me,
lay them on me
if that’s what it takes to live on top,
in the right,
lay them deep because I will dig deep,
when I pull your broken blade,
in pieces, out of myself,
I bring love up with it,
however frail and temporary.
That I might be all that I cannot possibly be.
That I at least try.
That you at least know.
It can be done.
