I was dead for a decade
I was living death out
I hated what I knew
With corrosive passion
Because I didn’t express pain
Until it was crushed out through my dense and boney presentation.
I was afraid of what you readers would do.
In the name of what I have, and thus, who you thought I was.
I was afraid of me, because I was taught by so many to see the cracks I bare,
Rather than how to mend what I could.
Or that people have that ability,
And that I could paint the world with the perspective of the things I learned from the unfixable.
It took the slowing of the world,
Illnesses, and a pandemic, to solidify my hard earned truths
at the same time that it held me away from everything that I healed for.