Featured Poem
Process
Healing is cleaning with a dirty rag.
Scared of being labelled as a drag.
I hide sharp things inside my bag.
Spilled milk begets a game of tag.
Streaks of grease I could never erase.
New horizons beg me not to stay.
Better than I was, yet forever stained.
Learn to be grateful rather than complain.
Longing to be sterilized,
it takes me time to realize.
Some wolves wear a sleek disguise,
so a younger me can sympathize.
I tried harsher chemicals,
propped sick people up on pedestals,
running at their beck and call,
the hell of being flexible.
Oblivious to the life I annihilated.
My naïveté was easily bated.
I flounder, deeply frustrated.
Will my pain forever be negated?
Whirlwind in a bottle ready to pop.
Pools of dark liquid expand as I rot.
I start to identify things I am not.
Allowing a moment to finally stop.
Am I punishing myself?
Trading outside validation for my health.
Unaware of my irreplaceable wealth.
Such juvenile actions belong on the shelf.
At last I know better,
I want better weather,
build up strength, release my tether,
my imagination can flow unfettered,
