You, the lover,
you love like an open wound.
It is rumored and whispered about by
everyone but only you get
the scar. You are the ultimate sacrifice
and you are the kind of person worth making it for but for
some reason
it is always you doing the sacrificing.
You are gushing promises and late
nights and hope and
you, the lover,
exist as you are, dependent on no one thing you have loved.
You, the fighter,
are perpetually found with your hands up,
just as often as there are kick marks found
on that which has oppressed you
and you do not believe in coincidences.
You are a legend in every culture to the
point where you can't be real but
you have to and you are both
scared and legendary and
you, the fighter,
are learning how to pick yours.
You, the loser,
have lost love, lost battles, and lost time.
You are the many pieces of yourself from lost and found to
found and needed to
needed and lost to
lost and moved on,
you with
your patchy heart, you have lost.
But you are only ever becoming more and
you, the loser,
have never been as simple as a sum of everything still here.
You are the cleaning house and the fighting back and the romantic without a cause.
You, the lover, the fighter, and the loser are the reinvention of the word
"whole"
and you,
you are everything.