on loving a wounded boy:
there will be days when his smile is so bright
that it blinds you.
do not shield your eyes from him;
instead, kiss the smile from his lips
and taste the heat there,
the love,
the ashes.
he will taste of sunshine and ruin.
let him.
there will be days when his arms
are a crime scene of his own design,
taped off and untouchable.
there will be days you come home
to find him bleeding heavily onto the bathroom floor
and he will stain the tile with every
regret
sorrow
guilt
and he will call it his own private sin.
bandage him; press your mouth
to the cotton dryness of the cloth
and feel the warmth of blood beneath.
remind yourself that this is not who he is.
remind him that he is more than the sum
of every wrong done to him.
there will be days when his mouth tastes
of saccharine
instead of sugar.
do not call him on his mistakes.
drink this bitter-sweet sorrow
down to the dregs.
there will be nights when his eyes
are the color of bruises
and his sobs will keep you awake no matter how
he tries to silence them.
pull him into your arms,
but say nothing.
if he wants to tell you, he will.
there will be mornings when he traces his fingers
up your leg
as you eat your breakfast.
he will not ask for anything more
than just the comfort of your presence in the room.
give that to him.
there will be midnights that his legs kick out
in fear
and he will sweat his nightmares out like fever.
there will be some kisses that taste like
every childhood summer you’ve ever had,
and other kisses that taste like sweat-salt
and the dampness of tears.
there will be times that he asks too much of you,
or times you give too little.
there will be times that he hisses threats between his teeth
and every word feels like a dagger.
and there will be apologies, eventually.
soft words and silences that blanket you in comfort
and the knowledge that above all else,
his love is genuine.
these moments will warm you from the inside out.
more than anything,
there will be moments when he looks at you
like you alone put the sun in the sky,
and his sigh against your lips
will be a supernova and an autumn wind
all at once.
kiss him once.
kiss him again.
kiss him until he forgets he’s broken,
and kiss him until you forget
that you’re broken
too.
“On Loving a Wounded Boy,” by dimepoetry
(via dimepoetry)
