Acceptance of another requires bravery.
Not the loud, brawling courage
brought and left on the battlefield.
Rather the quiet kind of bravery when
she catches glimpses of my personal darkness
and still stays.
Her type of bravery is when
the fractured light fixtures behind my eyes flicker
before going out, plunging me in darkness.
She sits beside me sharing that dark.
She not only sees my enraged monsters
but tries to befriend them, understand them.
At times I’m deathly afraid of myself.
But she never seems to be.
And that is the greatest kind of bravery.

hands remind me of you
they can heal
they can break
they can create 
they can stand idly by
just like you
touch is everything
but your touch is more
it's a hurricane 
that can't break anything
a feather 
that weighs too much 
everything you touch hurts
it's only when you walk away
that i can mend
your hands were never meant 
to administer to the beaten
your hands delivered 
pain and suffering
masquerading 
as peace and safety 
it's not as though i'm surprised 
i suppose that dying 
is but a side effect 
of living 

[holyoak]