Only Human

She has a switchblade
for a tongue on left days;
converts it into a
substitute for creamer
on right days
both
served ripe without reserve.

She’s been cursed
with a heart to love deeply
those who can’t;
blessed
to forgive deeper
those who won’t.

She’s been dressed
in more distress
than she can rehearse
how to heal in front of you.

She’s smiling
while her soul
continues to limp
on crutches.
Her ribcage
couldn’t protect her heart
from feeling so empty,
so exposed,
so vulnerable to trust
foreign hands not to fold
under the pressure
of a genuine friendship.

It’s not that she’s mean,
or sour,
nor any of its synonyms
for that matter but,
sometimes,
she too bleeds.
Sometimes,
she chooses to show her calluses
from trying so hard
to gain your acceptance,
your attention,
your love.

Sometimes,
she’s more human
than hero.
Sometimes,
salvation is masked
in surrender.
Maybe she too
forgets how to fly

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