A Soft Settling

You have the right to your soft words. Your soft life. Her soft body that doesn’t cut you open at night. I’ll let you turn my sharp and bruise into a memory. Your soft head. Soft heart. Soft teeth. You didn’t even get a piece of me. I’ve scarred myself worse just breathing; just being. There is nothing soft about me – about my love – or my want – nothing soft about my hands that have dug myself out of more than one grave, bursting through the wet grass, stretching towards dark skies. I am not that kind. If she wants your soft, then want her back because my sharp and bruise needs more than that.

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