Some days I am tender like the supple peach ready to sink your teeth into
Other days I am tender like the sirloin cooked medium rare you take your time to chew
Some days I am tender like the too hot tea that burned my tongue, leaving the swollen sore as a reminder to blow first
Other days I am tender like the dark purple centered, yellowish green lined bruise with no idea what I ran into to cause it
Some days I am tender like the way your hands mold perfectly cupping my cheeks as the tears stream down my face
Other days I am tender like the sneaky initials we carve underneath the kitchen counter before we lock our home for the last time
Tender takes its place in different ways,
But tender teaches me that marks are only made
On surfaces soft enough to dig into
Scars are only left
On skin that heals alongside them
The muscle in our ribcage remains alive
Only by beating
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