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Day 49 (Pint-Sized Poem #19)
I listen to the thought.
The idea of cutting again.
I listen to the idea.
And nothing happens.
The want has disappeared.
No matter what anyone says.
I don't want it.
I don't need it.
I'm not done with my recovery.
I'm still in my own little made-up rehab.
Working to the goal of being cured.
A cure?
Is that possible?
The idea seems almost unreachable.
But I can, and so I shall.
I shall be cured.
The answer to my misguided, broken sanity.
The rememdy to my scarred up arms.
His touch.
His smile.
His voice
Everything that he has done for me.
His love.
His kindness.
His understanding.
His being alive, and in my life.
Was this all that needed.
Was this indeed...
A cure?
The idea of cutting again.
I listen to the idea.
And nothing happens.
The want has disappeared.
No matter what anyone says.
I don't want it.
I don't need it.
I'm not done with my recovery.
I'm still in my own little made-up rehab.
Working to the goal of being cured.
A cure?
Is that possible?
The idea seems almost unreachable.
But I can, and so I shall.
I shall be cured.
The answer to my misguided, broken sanity.
The rememdy to my scarred up arms.
His touch.
His smile.
His voice
Everything that he has done for me.
His love.
His kindness.
His understanding.
His being alive, and in my life.
Was this all that needed.
Was this indeed...
A cure?
Published 21st Mar 2012
| Edited 15th Sep 2017
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