once when i was hurting,
i took a picture of a wall
where someone wrote in yellow letters:
all i want is healing
healing is all i want.
i looked at that wall every day
for a year
until someone painted over it
and all that was left
was the photo i had taken.

after that,
those ten words
became my secret mantra.
i would stare at those words
during hopeless nights
with nothing but myself
and a small blade i used
when the noise got too loud.

i thought a lot about
how i felt about those words -
what they really meant,
if they were the utter *******
i was beginning to believe they were,
and what my response would be
if someone ever spoke them to me
out loud.
until finally,
on one particular suffocating evening,
i carved the words
healing is difficult
on the very top of my
right thigh
and i thought, yeah
that's a pretty good
****-you
to the world and its hope
for healing.
count me out.
healing is hopeless.
healing is a myth.
healing is difficult.
and that is the truth.

it wasn't until this year,
after my scars have long since faded,
that i think back on those ten words
and know what they actually mean.

yes, i do want healing
and yes, healing is all i want.
i'm doing it right now
and i am scared
and i am shaking
but i am doing it,
i am doing it.
truth is,
i've waited for this kind of bravery
all my life.

Calling me in the middle of the night
Will only make my insides
Toss and turn more than
I already do trying to achieve sleep
Hearing your sleepy voice
Whispering:
"I missed you today and the days before that"
Kills me -
But only because I know this is not true
You say you miss me but you never
Talk to me
Here and there I'll get a few texts
Its only late at night when I receive these
And I think it's because
Your 1 am mind in surfacing
And sadly you are too sad
To lay in silence
So you remember those nights
When we kissed
Bare under your covers
That's what you miss
You do not miss me
Just the me you always had next to you
At night.

A famous artist took his painting,
which commenced life as beach driftwood,
whipped it with a chain.
Made it all
chipped and nicked,
and called it, antiqued.
He liked the way it looked,
and had it put in a museum.

God looked down and thought,
"****, I do good work,
Just look at the human race!"