Sameen Shakya
And I love how men love because there is a detail
In their memory often forgotten by everyone else
But them and during tender moments they bring
Up the memory from their pockets and lay
It on your beaten, tired face, and it’s the coolest
You’ve felt for years. How sad it is that boys
Become men and lose the fragility of a flower
And have to be oaks- big, broad shouldered trees
Who hurt because they’re scared to be hurt, but
How beautiful despite the scar we accumulate
Most of us try and do love, and when we do
It’s the softest of things, because it’s hard to forget
Those simple moments that make us cry.
