Lately you've been dodging bullet holes

Fleeing the scene of tire marks

I praise my bruises for a new place to start

Where they can't see the past that tore out all the kind and fragile parts

There is paper and wood I am storing

Axes, boots, and a steady hand for the harshness of darkness & winter

Be prepared, your maker would carry more kindness if only you were a man

It can wire cut fences, mend blind faith and sickness, but it never keeps up with those delicates, who claimed the arrows and carried the wings

My vulnerability makes it hard to breathe

On this journey did I forget anything