Healing Whole

I have spent too long ripping love letters
out of my hands like splinters –
I have spent too long bleeding.
And how, for years, my wrapped hands
couldn’t hold onto anything –
or anyone.
But still, I wrapped the gauze around a pen
and tried to put it down.
Love;
so conditional
for too long
– the men who only wanted my words
and not the heart that came with them
in all its clog and sputter.
It took me years to find a man who wanted me
to use my mouth for laughter,
or my hands for placing palms on chest
next to the heart (with all its clog and sputter).
And how now,
the love letters write themselves.
We wake up in beds of them;
wearing the words that never came so naturally before.

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