Sing to me,
A throat that
Bleeds.
A voice silenced,
Either by force
Or by virtue of
Position.

Dance for me,
A body that
Wears its skin
Like a failing safety vest
Riddled with bullets,
One last defence.

Look at me,
You with eyes that
Cloud over with
Memories of pain
Too sharp, too early to
Be experienced.
And yet, still look
At sunlight the same
Way it would
A sparkling gem.

Truth, yes, that you
Cannot save everyone.
But truer, still, that
A life is saved by moments
With people who hold
Silence and space.
A life is saved by
Each second of gentleness
That compounds, day by day,
’Til the hard years are
Worn down by time and memory—
Let live by the promise
That if you stay long enough,
The cracks turn into gold,
And wildflowers spring
From your veins.

The bleeding hurts, yes, but
That is not all it has to be.
I will make it into a garden,
Watered and tended to by me,
For the next weary soul to stop by
And see—

Life is not meant to be borne by shoulders.
It is meant to be held, fingers cradled, intertwined.
A hand in yours and mine. Together.