the kindness for weakness cliche

let me be your target.

my smile marks it-

the space where my lips part, it’s

the most obvious indication-

there, in that separation,

of the bottom and top-

it’s the beaming of my heart.

or maybe it’s found in my eyes

larger than most; it’s here my emotions are advertised.

every predicament

can be read through my pupils

the pigment changes in an instant,

and translucent thoughts

fill up, then fall down

and that’s where my heart can be found.

so sensitive, sensing it-

the suffering of what it means to live;

to constantly feel the realness

of the yearning, burning vulnerability-

the humility of humanity.


he called me

“a rose with no thorns”

and I don’t think it could have been put more perfectly.

The way they flock to me to pick at my pretty petals;

The way I wear my heart on my sleeve, it all leaves me in peril.

But I thrive off of their touch,

even if it’s just to pluck

at me.


Because it’s in that moment of human affection

Where I feel useful, I feel connected.

So I continue to smile, with my lips wide, and my eyes bright,

like I’ve never had a reason not to.


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