The modest Rose puts forth a thorn:
The humble Sheep. a threatning horn:
While the Lily white, shall in Love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright

'We are sending you, dear flowers,
Forth alone to die,
Where your gentle sisters may not weep
O'er the cold graves where you lie;
But you go to bring them fadeless life
In the bright homes where they dwell,
And you softly smile that 't is so,
As we sadly sing farewell.

O plead with gentle words for us,
And whisper tenderly
Of generous love to that cold heart,
And it will answer ye;
And though you fade in a dreary home,
Yet loving hearts will tell
Of the joy and peace that you have given:
Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!'

you don't need to trace your hands
over the hairline fractures of their bones
to know their body was once betrayed.
you don't need to hold their wrist tighter
just to feel the pulse of a reassembled heart.
their past is not an imperfection,
and they are not in need of saving.
remain mindful that they are a person—
no more or less whole than any other—
and they are not condemned to a life
within the confines of their past.
so fall in love with their eyes,
their heart, their words—
their present.

–w.b.h. // a letter for broken lovers

A peck of his lips filled with sin
     my labored breathing  
          his calloused hands wander my body
          exploring every inch of me
He holds my hand
      and steals my breath
           with a rope he found in the kitchen
Calloused hands wander over my body
     as he lay me with his ex lovers
          each more beautiful than  the next
          each more grave than the last
Beware of boys with blue eyes like sapphires dropping in the ocean

"Don't pick me!
     My beauty will wither
     My color will fade
     My scent will pass away
     To the directions you cannot follow.

But if it is You
     Pick me."