Poetry as Therapy

Old wounds heal but leave scars.  Sometimes writing about them clarifies, or gives you permission for your feelings, even as you try to move forward.

Here's the process and result of today's rumination;

I already had in my head that the #microprompt for yesterday was 'cloth'

 

Have I worn sackcloth and ashes long enough?

How long will you punish me?

How long will I punish myself?

I have walked barefoot through your verbal gravel

I never allowed calluses to grow, but I could not stop the scars

The bleeding has mostly stopped

I can hold my head up again

I’m just not sure I want to.

I noticed lots of 2 word phrases, so I tried cinquains (remember, cinquains are 5 line stanzas with syllable counts of 2,4,6,8,2. Often the 2 worder line is the key).

How long

Will you exact

Abject penance from me?

How long will I punish myself

For truth?

Have I

Walked over words

Of broken glass and spite

Enough to placate your ego?

How long?

The wounds

Are mostly scarred

I imagine holding can hold my head up

My head up again

I can stand tall again

But I can’t decide if I want

To try.

Have I

Humbled myself

Worn sackcloth and ashes

Enough for you to forgive me simple forgiveness

My pain?

I was

Too trusting

Naïve or innocent

To allow calluses to form  grow,

Protect.

A little rearranging and polishing and that resulted in:

How long

will you exact

abject penance from me?

How long will I punish myself

for truth?

Have I

humbled myself,

worn sackcloth and ashes

enough for you to forgive me

my pain?

Have I

walked over words

of broken glass and spite

enough to placate your ego?

How long?

I was

too trusting,

naïve or innocent

to allow calluses to grow,

protect.

The wounds

have mostly scarred.

I can stand tall again

but I can’t decide if I want

to try.