Even through the wars,
When society kicked my feet out from under me,
Even when my knees were scraped and bloodied,
When hot fire tears burned my chapped lips,
Even when I snapped like a worn rubber band,
Whipping your skin and making you yelp,
Even when my words were dipped in poison with barb wired tips,
You were there.
With your white silk feathers,
And permanent glow,
And undying flames in the hushed snow.
Holding out your hands,
Palms facing the sky,
Pulling me off the dusty floor, covered with glass shards.
The words are too hard
To leave my soft lips,
So I write a quiet message
That should be screamed from rooftops:
I wrote this for my parents, who never give up on me.