The Raw

Slice, bleed, red tinge, flow.

I remember the early days,

the bruising, playing with the skin

steady pressure until the rise almost breaks,

sometimes it does, a trickle, fascination,

that’s enough for tonight.

~

So how did we get here then, with the deep laceration,

our hearts pouring out of our body,

seeking relief,

trying to catch all the misery in a soaking towel,

crimson with shame.

~

I wonder if anyone understands when they see my scars.

when time seemed an endless silent scream,

the fear of revealing an internal battle with peace.

When the knife knew just how deep the pain

the relief point,

the place where everything would fog

rather than pierce the mind with anxious reminders.

I wonder if everyone knows what raw means,

I do.

Advertisements

2 responses to “The Raw

  1. I love that I can be away from your work for awhile and then dive right back in and be instantly emotionally invested. This one BURNED me to the core. Wondering and hoping if the scars aren’t physical ones but mental, from pens, and the blood could be ink? So moving.

    Liked by 1 person

Please I would love you to share words, suggestions ...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s