Scar Tissue – (Poem for a broken heart)

miranda_john_william_waterhouse 600

I remember only living at night, unable to differentiate the real;
To wake was pain, to sleep was pain, to forget was horror;
And to remember was pain…
But as a child, I always picked at my scabs.
Sometimes they bled again, but seeing the new pink flesh was
Reassuring. Is this what I was doing now, in remembering?
How many times have I heard the adage: what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger? I always thought it seemed somewhat trite,
but now find it intrinsically real.
How much stronger then? How much more torment?
Nauseated with supposedly ever-empowering ache,
I lean on the looming horror of forgetting…and invite it in.
In the fog I search for an essential component of me that’s missing.
Like a ship with no rudder, forced to go where the wind dictates.
My only solace is to drift unprotected and pray for calm.
I’ve seen you, tumultuous sea, suddenly give up the fight
Joining hands with wind and clouds, to settle the waves.
Should I lay down now, allow death’s arms to soothe me?
But as I wait, I feel that with each wave my pain recedes
from deep inside I gather strength to raise and meet a hostile world
I turn my back and leave
I can face the world with strength from hardened scar-tissue

Collaborative Twitter Poem by:

@Permabloom @Jdubqca @Brudberg @MyVogonPoetry @vivchook @afcoory @troublegummer

Painting by John Waterhouse: Tempest


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