When lovers entwine, what rests between arms?
Is it yards of blood-soaked gauze?
We carry our crosses bearing the weight.
If loving arms should offer shelter,
do they recoil as we uncover our wounds?
Or, would they cradle our broken parts?
Fear of rejection pushes doubts forward
as the ego secures our palms to the cross.
Is it worth the risk?
Sometimes it is easier to remain in pain.
And then we wonder why no one offers us an umbrella when it rains.
LatinosUSA 
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