Delicacy: The Quality Of Being Delicate, In Particular

Human beings,

With soft warm skin,

Galaxies beneath their eyelids,

Are meant to be handled with care.

The label,


Not visible to the eye,

Goes unnoticed by many.

You, however,

Specimen of our kind,

Recognize that I am human, too.

You choose to acknowledge this,

Hold me in your arms of flesh and bone.


As if I’m made of glass:

Squeeze too tightly and I’ll crumble to shards in your shaking palms,

Let go and I will crash to the ground,

Abandoned and destroyed.

You approach me calmly,

Your opinions only stated, never forced.

You look into my eyes,

Not to implicate your will into me,

Not to shove ‘it’s okay’ down my throat and under my skirt

As if an antidote for my independence,

But to search for my honest approval.

For me to say that it’s okay myself,

Uninfluenced by impure motives.

With no knife to my throat,

You allow me to experience freedom alongside you.

Human being to human being,

We experience love in its purest form.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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