Not from the Wound
We come from different traumae, you and I.
But pain touches us in similar ways
like the blood that runs in our veins, not
the way we have seen life’s loss or gains.
Reckless mothers, absent fathers,
cruel fathers, feckless mothers.
Dead parents or dead to our needs,
there is no difference in the marks
they leave on us, or the scars
that we ferry since the day
we chose to scratch or salve or bury
what as children we could not carry.
My love lost was no love at all.
That for which I was angry and sad,
I feel only compassion and am glad.
Those who were taxed with my care
are no longer alive nor do they dare.
Becoming an outsider, an outlier
has been the greatest gift I could
have -unknowing- given to myself.
I write from the scar, not from the wound.
No matter how loud or lamenting my words
may sound, my mind is in a quiet place.
My heart, spirit willing, is ready for grace.
©JkMansi 2018. All rights reserved.
Thanks to DiAmaya Dawn and Lit Up
