maybe the broken ones are the most perfect

they are those with broad shoulders

shaded with bruises

outlined with scars

accented with scabs

they are those without names

broken and shattered

torn and tattered

black eyes look hollow

you can barely swallow

they are those with big hands

callouses caress their fingertips

your fingers trace their lips

they are the gentle giants

that will sing you to sleep

with voices soft and gentle

they are those with steady breathing

who will hold you when you're grieving

ground you when you're screaming

in anguish rage and pain

they may be gnarled

but their roots will wrap you up

sustain your sanity

and make you smile