Day 3: in my mind

Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful parts of us.
– David Richo

My wounds ooze daily,
festering on the tip
of my tongue, lodging
in my throat.

Sometimes, they swirl
like a cyclone
through my ribcage,
aching deep inside.

My wounds are hidden,
hidden deep within my gut,
wearing away the lining,
washing away anything good
anything whole.

My wounds are fleshy and harsh
and vibrant and painful.
But you wouldn’t know
to look at me.

I smile. I laugh. I perform
kind gestures. I pretend.
My wounds are hazardous to life,
carrying a warning sign.

In my mind, I am healing.
I do the work, convince myself
all can be well. That I am worthy.
That I am enough.

But this is useless
if not translated
into the body.
These healing vibes
need to be transmitted

along my blood lines,
pumped into the centre
of my wounds
as it’s the body
that remembers.

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