i wish i could go back -
hold the little boy with unkempt, inky hair
and clumsy, painted fingertips
by the hand and tell him:
“you are a hero.
you will soar into the sky
with your crimson cape
and pointe shoes;
the crowd will tell you
to fight tougher, punch harder
but i believe in you
and that's enough.”

i know him too well —
the sweaty palms
the wobbly knees
the trembling voice

he sits with me in therapy
scowls at me, clawing his nails into my arms
growls through gritted teeth:
“quit talking about me.”
and the floor tilts underneath.

i do not flinch/shrink/cower;
i remain firm/secure/composed
because now,
my tongue is an ammunition
i am no longer afraid to exhaust.

at night you can find me
planted onto the tile floor
the shower water gushing against my hunched back feels like a hug
each trickle resembles your fingers
- i'm trying to erase you,
scrub away the marks you've left on my wrists,
the bruised knees
but your threatening undertone
rings in my head
stings the sterile lights,
they will always flicker.

Mark Boschi

today,
when you awaken
you will stretch your limbs out wide,
give this new slate a hug,
let it know that it will be yours for the taking.

undoing this new chapter with a clear conscience and an open heart,
your pen will overflow with compassion and fortitude.
you will shed your burdens,
emerge anew
as you whisper,
"I forgive.”

Mark  Boschi

My body climbed into tear-stained sheets,
senses circling me with familiar lavender
and anxious qualms
about where I was.

I peered out the rain-streaked windows
to see the full moon
gleaming akin to a neon sign that said,
“You're home.”

and in those moments where the sun is setting
and the house lulls to a soft quiet
and your body falls back into the numbness,
may you know that you will always have you.
your grace,
your compassion,
your warmth,
these parts can never be taken away;
no matter how much the pain and longing
tries to dim everything into a moonless black,
you will always have you.