Readers note: This was written by me to my wonderful boyfriend.
This man,
he pressed his ear against my
ripped heart
and made music out of its hemorrhaging,
so I could remember that my pain has
purpose.
He held my broken body
like a wounded bird,
but showed me that one day
I will have to fly,
and nobody is going to flap my wings for me.
He took my hand
as I tattooed a permanent reminder
of my strength on my body,
telling me that he was so proud
for doing something for myself today.
He collected the tears
as they danced down my cheeks,
After I stood back in the same place
I lost most of who I was
and he scrubbed the memories from the floor.
The touch of his fingertips
radiates into my ears
as if each fingerprint is saying
something different to me.
He respects me.
He will take care of me.
Sometimes I feel selfish
standing next to him.
There is so much of me to handle
that I fear I am a puzzle
with too many pieces
and I am asking him to put me together.
Instead,
he takes a seat and gets to work.