Forgiveness: I shake too often. My hands are more like engines, horsepower I don’t know where to channel, and I put them on you all the time because that is what comes the most naturally to them. You hold them like they are flowers instead, and you stop them from trembling. My fingers are piano keys on which life has been playing a symphony I have never been able to keep up with. But you, you keep them warm instead of on fire. You keep them still. You keep them silent. I kiss you with apologies and you reply with “it’s okay” every time. I am cruel to myself, harsh on my lips, words crucifying them until they bleed, and your breath heals them, it asks for nothing in return.
Kindness: There is no other way to tell you what it feels like that you have stayed even after seeing how lacklustre my honesty really is. I am scared, always terrified of being real, but you are good to me even when I am not myself.
Vulnerability: Sometimes there is fear in your voice. Sometimes there is reluctance in your chest. Sometimes there is a thud in your heartbeat that misses its rhythm. I am afraid for your wrists too often, because there is no way of knowing when my love will become the blade that slices them open. I can’t have this poem become red simply because I have been too reckless with your absolution, but you trust me. And baby, nothing has ever felt so good as the surrender of your heart to my sleeve.
Confidence: Remember this always - if I am not weathered away by all the storms that I have put myself through, it is because you have touched me healing, loved me gentle, pained me beautiful.