it’s always the lovely ones

who brave this world without a shell,

fated to feel everything, to snag themselves

on every thorn, strike every sharp corner

of this brilliant chaotic world.

yet they rise and rise again undaunted

wounded but alive, shake themselves off

and look the word straight in the eye

then charge headlong, raging, laughing

beautiful and free, straight

through the narrow rusty gates

of our hearts

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