We Keep Them Locked Up
For a Semblance of Safe Keeping
a nagging feeling
rustles around
the mind drawers
pulling out
scraps & veins
of aftermaths
everything becomes
a part of the dilapidated
decor, sticky cobwebs
trapping the beauty
of the present place,
antiques to be collected,
raked over, dissected
on a night where
a storm warning reigns
eyelets stare, remind
of bullet holes, of
being buried alive,
trapped, whittling
at worms wriggling
beneath burning skin
by jagged finger nails
chewed away long ago,
but a tongue never forgets
the taste of blood,
of terror, of a bar of soap
shoved between protesting lips
being prepared to scream
is a form of survival armor,
a fooling calm demeanor
is a protective garment,
moth-worn, sheer, &
necessary
locking us in, wrapping
us up with a tap-tap
on a wristwatch
time is running out,
seams have a shelf life,
the unhealed wounds
rattling deep within
are ready to rupture,
to peel away your scabs
let them bleed, scar over,
& then remember, so they’ll
tear open once again
Stupid past wounds: I hate them!
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I hear you. There is a bit of comfort in healing processes, however. There is no cure for a terrible past, but when they do rear their ugly trauma heads, an opportunity to learn, grow, & move forward through all that presents itself. Even the search for strength to survive shapes us. Thank you for reading. ❤
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Yes! I HATE when it rears in a great relationship when I can’t even understand it, let alone rationalize with it (and I go through ridiculous emotional episodes that have nothing to do with the current great relationship whatsoever), but wow, what a miracle when bits and pieces feel like they finally get vanquished, and how wonderful the personal and relationship growth. It’s when I feel God the most. ☺️
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