Now I'm Looking

I push at an open wound.

One that I had forgotten,

as it bled a trail behind me.

I’m surprisingly mad at myself

for not noticing.

Now accepting it is hard.

Grabbing that needle and thread is hard.

It’s in every love letter and suicide note i cry out,

every jealous tendency,

every bipolar whiplash mood swing,

the truth. I was hurt.



Now I’m thinking about every word, and argument,

looking at that bloody ragged mess,

seeing it shrink seeing it grow,

sometimes it looms,

and weaves me with confusion.

I stitch. I try to heal. Now I’m looking,

and I know I’ll survive.