Her armor is thin.
She knows how this ends: the delicate ones bend.
Oh God, thicken her skin when its arrows they send.
She’s boarding up the door.
She knows how this ends: trusting and expecting unearths the worst.
Oh God, hold the lock and key when no other is of worth.
She’s digging in the dirt.
She knows how this ends: with filthy, empty hands.
Oh God, reap before she sows in what will not grow.
It’s a struggle you know.
To hope in what you cannot see,
Through armor, though thin.
From behind a door boarded in.
Covered in dirt caked like sin.
Oh Love, if you agree,
Let no doubt intervene.
You know who holds the key.
And may you spend your days under each other’s white flags,
Holding dirty hands.
Love,
Taylor
Love, Taylor 