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.

the apathy of flower picking

this summer I

watched the way you kept

picking roses and pricking

your fingers

on the thorns and

my arms held themselves

open for the tears you

shed but now

I

am the one

picking roses and pricking

my fingers and through my

tears I see

your arms crossed

in front of you.