Dec 2017
for a time
there were cuts
and blood on my wings
so i used my feet
for as long as i could run
till i made them bleed
then down on my knees
i crawled. what stayed okay
was locked inside
my heart and skull.
i knew if i kept moving
forward, healing would
come and release someone
who is me, but new.
i didn't know when, and
poetry helps me accept
the process, the bloodletting
and surgeries,Β Β the ugly
airing and then the sense
of clean freedom. it really
is a wide, wonderful world
and a woolly, wild ride
if i have to fly,
run or crawl,
for in my ripple-inducing
actions it is all
part of the dream,
the short and bloody
existence of someone
who looks like me.
Written by
Vicki  52/Ohio
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