Healing

My pain stays contained, It’s difficult to remove the lid. I’d sooner pop a bottle, And laugh a distracted laugh, Than look in that dark well.

Thus the shadows stay out of sight for a while, But they jump me when I least expect.

So when I’m feeling brave, My pen draws out my shadows, So I can see them clearly, And fight them sword in hand.

It’s pain metered out, Discipline in lines, And it moves me to see that I’m human. The cuts of sadness, Are straight and true.

The poem is my bandage removed, Exposing soft skin. The skin will harden with air, And the scar tissue will be thrown, Piled with the others in the corner.

Edited stanza 3.

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