Photo©Nevit Dilmen (talk)
Pieces of a memory, a card, your name,
because you couldn’t bear that I might not know.
Only pieces because I didn’t want your gift,
all the softness and the sweetness
and the giving and the pleasing,
the pink, quilted satin lovehearts,
the cringing, squirming cuteness.
I didn’t want your face stuck onto mine,
your eyes full of me and nothing else,
your hand in mine, to follow where I led.
Sometimes it has to hurt to be worthwhile,
sometimes crying helps to know the other side,
to delve and dive deep into darker places,
to soothe the scars and learn to love the flaws.
With you, I feared, behind the tender goo,
I would find only nylon fluff and glue.