I’m coming clean
From here on out.
I’m scraping away
Sorrow and doubt.
I’m pushing myself
Until I’m inside out.
Not turning away,
I’m turning into something else.
Got sick and tired.
So slow
And staggering,
Lost is for those
Who have somewhere to be;
Somewhere to belong.
I am no one
From nowhere.
Born featureless,
Blank on exit.
I learned darkness,
Dirt and deception
From an early age
And rolled with it,
Until now.
I’m coming clean,
out here in the rain.
The dirt’s coming off
and so is the pain.
Soaking until,
I see skin again.
Clean and new,
but all the scars remain.
Pushing
Harder.
Getting it all off.
Getting it all out.
Pushing,
pushing.
Can’t fix the seams from the outside.
Pushing
harder,
for so long constipated.
So full of shit,
turn inside out
and deal with it.
Splash down clean.
Game dressed and ready
for the final song.
Preparation
of an offering.
Scrubbed and skinned.
Gutted and clean,
inside and out.
HG – 2109
Often your prose reminds me of how I felt trying to get better as I realized I was sick as a young adult growing up with two alcoholic parents. This poem is the same. Trying to get clean washing all the ugliness and sorrow off. Love your stuff. Thank you.
Everyone has a struggle and getting through it is constant work. Some days it is easier and some days it seems harder than we can possibly imagine, but the solution stays the same – keep going. I just try to keep going.
The writing helps the process. Thank you Hokus.