a walking canvas,
her body is her story,
memories depicted in ink tone scars,
she wears her heart on her sleeve..
literally.
images commemorate words unspoken.
some figuratively..
ask & she will tell.

anticipation puts her on the edge of her seat,
as the machine comes to life,
never has a vibration been so soothing,
the buzz is her lullaby.
after all.. big girl don't cry,
her therapy is about to begin,
and though some would call it a sin..
she feels this could never be.
pain converted, so beautifully.
" are you ready?"
more ready than I've ever been,
release overwhelms her,
as he tears into the first few layers of skin,
goosebumps dance from head to toe,
easing a troubled mind..
this pain is temporary,
and soon will pass..
unlike other other pains,
the endless shames & heartaches that cut deep,
deeper than a needle ever could..
for awhile, she is at peace,

embracing the rawest form of release,
knowing well,
she will emerge with another chapter,
a mark on the page,
a vibrant imagery, to depict her rage..
this ugly duckling, has never felt more like a swan..
   the buzz of the machine soon dies,
& the walking canvas opens her eyes,
feeling the closest thing to a breath of fresh air..
that's she's felt in a long time,
haze soon accompanies the serenity of the room,
lost souls gather to unwind,
**** some time, & find a gimps of understanding,
a calm, in such a demanding world,
where everyone's quick t point fingers,
with hands that are far from clean..

we are no different than you,
we pick & we choose,
the only difference?
i won't judge you for being bland,
but if you criticize,
i might demand,
a little insight..
what sin helps you sleep at night?