Delicate, by Vicki Khzouz

Few women are cursed by this thing.
Far fewer are damned
by its eternal sting.

The rare medley of us who are ill-fated
suffer from a heartache that is agonizingly serrated.
We are forced to live with
these jagged pains,
shackled by our condemning,
boundless chains.

The rare few of us
are gravely delicate.
Cautiously approach us with
empathy, but only if your intentions
are genuinely benevolent.
Because we are those who,
when we love,
we love with our whole heart.
So when we give,
We give.
Leaving nothing behind,
not a single spare part.
So when our heart is broken,
we are shattered.
Crippled by the forsaken wound, left helplessly open.

Many years may continue to succeed.
Yet, not a day passes when our hearts won't bleed.
We'll pretend that we're strong and prove we're moving forward
but every so often, our emotions get the best of us,
torment us
and make us feel cornered.

That's when we fall victim
to our fated restrictions
and we are raped
by our doomed afflictions.

So if you're one of the few to fall in love with us
and we fall for you
be certain your intentions are honorable before you continue to pursue.
Because we are infinitely fragile
and considerably susceptible to unravel.