That Deep Gaping Wound

I feel,

that

sinking hole in my chest, slowly,

painfully tightening.

I choke,

back

waves of profound sadness.

That deep gaping wound

infinite in its abyss.

Waves of blackness

never reaching shores,

because

there isn’t any.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Instead,

I float. And

make Life, my art.

Childhood trauma is best tucked, swept, under deep layers of consciousness and unconsciousness; and, buried under heaps and heaps of warm, fuzzy, cotton blankets, but they would do equally well under a pile of thick, duck down feather quilts.

Photo by Nicolette Meade on Unsplash

Out of sight,

out of mind.