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We never say "I love you,"
because since I first kicked you
headfirst out of the womb
we've been the matches
relighting each other's lantern
through each power outage.

There are some things
too powerful for words.

We don't say "I love you,"
because it's too often been used
as reassurance after a betrayal of its message,
because it has so often been reduced
(much like we were from our names
to our birth's quantity).

It is not our measure.

Instead, we've learned
to weigh emotion in palms -
you, holding the aftermath of my body,
while I screamed over tears - a banshee,
as I buried and mourned
so many realities, possibilities,
because men continued to decide
that "ready" and "right"
were definitions they could assign.

And your palms, molding over mine
to steady, and lend strength
in rebuilding.

You thrust your hand onto my chest,
holy beat of thunder: "Inside here,"
is the blueprint of a fighter,
is the heartbeat of resilience,
architect of perseverance
is the pure, unaltered essence
of a soul beyond their influence,"
and in your iris, I saw the fire
you were passing into mine.

"Make no mistake: these eyes, here,
are the dictionary picture of 'survivor,'
and these are the eyes of someone
who, still, has so much more to give."

You'll argue you never spoke
those words exactly,
but I heard them in the echoes,
grew their seeds throughout the seasons
into a fierce declaration of existence,
and it's as much mine as it is yours.

Even though some will claim to have penned
a few words of its verse, it's a culmination
of the distance traveled by our shoes,
and the blisters worn by our feet,
and I'll be damned if, over whatever
beautifully persistent mess
lays inside my frame,
I don't, in the loudest ink,
claim its bottom corner.

Though you still doubt
the reassuring fires of your hearth,
and sometimes still the potential to return
like migratory birds.

But you,
lightkeeper with calloused hands,
caretaker of the refuge,
bright heart with stubborn embers,
pacifist despite the marks
of history's heavy fist,
are the sun on my horizon...
the calm well of sound advice
that I've known throughout my life.

When you doubt your impact to your size,
please, come listen, to the thunder
of my hand upon your chest: “Inside here,
is the blueprint of a fighter,
is the heartbeat of resilience,
architect of perseverance,
is the pure, unaltered essence
of a soul beyond their influence,"
and hold your lantern high
so the fire may ignite.

"Make no mistake: these eyes, here,
are the eyes of a survivor,
and they are the eyes of someone
who, still, has so much more to give."