you probably WON'T read this

…knowing it would be flawed
Even the beauty of birth leaves its scars
So indeed poverty raises them hard
Roughing the edges so even kind words leave marks

But isn’t that why?
…why we bate our breath
and wait, healing from the superficial pretence
in order to sense

that kindness - that might’ve been said in sharpness?
that lightness - disguised in false expectations of darkness?

A heart is - - - as much flawed as a mis-thought
presuming egg shell slippers would cushion souls when the frying pan’s hot
in attempt to protect, each step crushes as you listen
so now in reality its hot - you run the fuck out the kitchen

at a break neck speed, like the walls your heart erects
to store away – preserve – hide behind
that cowardice, to be used at a later time
cause the risk of getting burned by your own shallowness
was fear enough for your heart to re-route your mind’s eye

from seeing that
rough-edged pages might have lines confessing
powerlessness, or
temporary vulnerability doesn't equal affectionless-ness
and previous scars don’t predicate my consequences
to how you behave but they merely adjust my lenses

so I might see a tattered sheet, not judging by the cover
but reading in between
the lines and confessions - blueprinting good intentions
that no matter how seemingly obtuse
pave a road through hell, not to

so despite the flaws, tears, and hell fires
risks of heartbreaks, walls tumbled, kind liars
weeping endures a night but joy cometh in the morn’
like out of a clear mind learnt from heart-tattered-flaws,
lovers that walk through - beside you - are born

no beauty without sacrifice
but this will be hard for your eyes to behold

since you probably can’t read this
still healing from paper cuts behind
walls erected as consequences of mis-thoughts
mistrusts
running on egg shells to or from what
you know not
not knowing what you want, blind to the love you got and what it is

so... you probable won’t read this.