Sometimes it's hard for me to understand
How someone like you
Could love someone like me.

I don't handle my bruises very well,
And I always question truths and facts,
Before I accept them.

I have great distaste
For people who would rather we all be the same
Than venture towards variety.

My heart bleeds much too often
For too many different things and people,
Leaving me without the room
To bleed for myself.

While you are strong,
And stoic,
And capable.

While I am floundering
For my own footing,
Trying to stand for myself
Rather than others.

And I wonder if you see
Me as a golden heart
With a rebel fist,
Like I know I used to be,
Or if I'm soft tones
And gentle hands.

Maybe I'm too skittish
To be comforting most times,
Unless it's an emergency
Of some sort.

Maybe I'm too soft spoken
To be anything like the pistol I once was.

But at the very least,
You see some good in me,
And maybe that's enough.