I know you are convinced
you burn
bridges,
as if it’s a pastime. And
I know you can’t help
but apologize,
as if it’s a hobby.
You’re convinced all
you’re capable of
is causing hurt.
You comfort yourself
with pathetic metaphors
about tornado hands.
I know you want
to be
the sun.
I know everything you do
is only a self defense
mechanism, because
no one
seems to protect you.
But I
will cut your hair
from your shoulders,
if your arms feel
too weak
to do it yourself.
And I
will grab you by
your shoulders, and
scream that you
are loved,
you are loved,
you are loved.
Until you
believe it.
And I
will take care of you, I
promise.
Lacel is a 17 year old aspiring artist and poet. Her name is pronounced like shoe-lace with an “L” at the end. She isn’t sure where, but she falls under the aromantic/asexual spectrum. She also enjoys reading comics and pressing flowers.
