When I think of it,
almost all wounds arise
from a lack of love.
Lack of love is an antecedent
of bitterness, of disconnection and disease.
Underneath oppression
is a history of looking away
from your pain.
Beside emotional paralysis,
lies an aching heart,
waiting to beat like a drum.
I don’t see how
we can get past
our sadness by turning away from it.
We ache to be witnessed
at our weakest,
to have our pain validated,
and not have to hollow out
the insides of our eyes,
where pain resides- coagulated.
These words demand to be written,
refusing other words to be released-
a literary ransom
of literal pain.
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