.
Reaching in
through my shadow,
finding the broken parts of me.
Wounds,
healed into scars,
jagged and shameful.
Unskilled hands in surgery.
.
I learned long ago,
that life
is painful,
and full of atrocities.
Everyone has
their own private hell,
and I
am not immune
to the disease.
.
In the darkest moments,
no one is coming,
no one can help,
or save the day.
We either endure
this malevolent manifestation,
or we die.
.
Running around
with things like that
in your head,
spending the rest of your life
traumatized.
Unable to process
the reasons why,
and the after effects.
.
I could never give away my pain,
nor would I want to.
I wouldn’t wish any of it upon you,
or anyone.
.
My shame
and basic dissociation,
wouldn’t fit you,
and besides,
you’ve got your own mess, anyway.
.
Maybe,
you’re one of the lucky ones.
Maybe trauma didn’t nest
inside your head.
If that’s the case,
then keep on living happily,
and leave the dying
to the dead.
.
Putting on my favorite misery.
Wear it around,
proud and unique.
I made it myself,
tailored to fit,
and I must admit;
this suit has made me.
.
.
HG – 2020
