these marks on my arm are from delinquent behavior and uncaring decisions. for most of my life i’ve hated myself. for most of my life i’ve had reasons to. carousels of faces have spun in and out of these days, and few have remained. you have been on both edges of the fence. a once face, and now a name. you have slipped in and out of these marked arms. and although i grow angry and restless, you still seem to be something better than me. i’ve lost most of my past feelings and there isn’t much left inside of this bag of blood. you mean a lot and i wish i could label this thought. it seems so simple to me now, here, at this moment.

you are kind, and gentle, and i love you for that.