Thirteen. Unlucky for most, but lucky for me. The number of times I've seen someone bleed. Only in my mind when I have imagined, The contributions of strangers, hard to fathom. Hard to fathom, the volume of compassion. Gathered from bodies of individuals that matter. A uniquely human cycle, no other I’d rather, One day a contributor, the next a benefactor. Giving the gift of life, celebrated every day thereafter. Thirteen, The number of times I will bleed, To return what's not rightfully me. To people in a world full of a need.
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