traumatized

you tell me I am too

nice

to you,

and I kiss you

gently,

for I will not punish you

for the parts of you that

bleed, or the

corners of your skin that

scream with trauma you

are still learning to

admit,

for I am not,

will not be,

your judgement day.

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how to find compassion

I have a theory that

every so often life hollows

you out, it scrapes its

nails across the inside of your

skin and the corner of your

bones and takes with it

for a moment every

bit of

love you’ve ever

held, so

that you are

reminded of how much

room you have to

fill.