To the boy I met on death row:

when you're so still

that you can hear your heart beat

all the way throughout your legs

and around your ears,

silence can become deafening—

surviving can become deafening.

Similar to our cells,

we like to build membranes.

We filter what comes within,

and what comes out.

It’s a border control for

our vulnerability.

And your vulnerability is beautiful—

Its unshatterable.

You were a blessing.

Someone who could call a girl beautiful—

when she couldn't say it to herself.

Someone who could listen—

reminiscing over hell.

As he tells stories about the time

"she slashed my brain"

or the time

"he lit my spirit into flames"

but you are still walking,

still surviving.

I can only spell strong to you—

and the letters are laced around you