Can we talk about the inner wound healing that happens when you’re treated right? The way nights of crying myself to sleep and days of quiet to appease; are bandaged by laughter and softness-deep talks and conversations with no words? The longer you place a healing hand on every part of me, you build me back up to who I want to be. You resurrect the lost parts, with you I feel whole and free from harm. Every piece of you fits perfectly, heart and hand how it’s supposed to be.
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Poisoned Poet