I tiptoed on eggshells, stepped on shattered
glasses, smiling as I bled; to reach you,
a few drops of blood aren't as grave as death
I burned my hands on furnaces and dipped
my fingers in liquid flames—scalded
myself for tired, old bonds I’d sworn to keep
I wondered, as scars faded beneath
my feet and between my fingers, why you
let me carve myself up this much, this bad
while you wore a face painted with nothing,
not even praise; I later learned of your
penchant for wordless curses; of how you
told me to perish—you had turned away
after seeing how broken I’ve become.
But life has been so kind and so gentle
in putting back up my crumbled pieces;
tender, calm, it told me that to receive
love is not to seek pain or heat but to
embrace warmth—in fresh blankets, purring furs,
a friend’s bear hug, and a stranger’s smile.
I need not ache for one mortal life
when sincere affection blooms all around.
