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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