We're quite with screaming lungs
and they would not know
our definition because
we were not defined,
we were hung somewhere
in between being human
and being demonic.
Because humans have hearts, they say,
and demons don't have souls, they say.
But we?
We are ghost faces,
born of of the pallor of the clouds
with hearts that beat too fast,
and lungs that scream too loud
and a void gaping inside us
where a soul should be.
So we reach on our tiptoes
to touch the sky and collapse
because our hearts beat too fast
for too long and because
it's a dying muscle that we can't revive,
But we're dancing ashore
after we know the guilt,
and after we have relapsed from the regret
and after our hollows contain the oceans,
we were not afraid but we are brave now.
Not because we're not human,
because we can be more than human.

We can be kindness.