You regain conscience
In a cold alley
Lying in a ball
Against a dumpster
Try to push yourself up
Only you can't feel your hands
They're bloody and misshapen
Your fingers are broken.
But you have to get up.
You can't stay here
Not while so vulnerable.
Going by what you can see rather than feel
You place your hands on the dirty street
And you push your body up.
Thank god you can't feel
Because you know that hurts
(you've had broken hands before)
Now you're standing but something feels off
It isn't until you take a step that your side flares
And you notice the knife wound.
You hate this
Because you'll heal
Add another scar to your body
And in a few days
It'll happen again
Sometimes you hate god for making you the way you are.
In our moment of self pity and anguish
You don't notice the figure approach
Not until theres a hand reaching for your face
And you flinch away
But they keep coming
Until they grip your chin
And you look up.
Sometimes you hate god for making you gay
Then you see her look at you
With love and so much innocence
That's when you thank god for her.
