A new poem (or several) I just came up with, a rough cut, well that’s usually where I finish them anyway. I’ve been training for a transition into a social care role, that’s what the last part is about. It is a long late night composition so it may be a bit all over.
One time I bled,
It was wet and red.
It came from the top of my foot
When I kicked off a tiny piece of glass.
They checked in an X-ray whether it had gone inside,
It hadn’t, but you can still see the scar.
Another time I bled,
From the back of my head
It smothered my blonde hair
A deep shade of red
Now my hair’s long been a mane of light brown
But when I part it, I can still feel the scar.
Many times I bled,
From cuts on my wrists
It flowed impressively when I made a fist
It stung, but inside I hurt more.
Now I have scars, but I cover them with a watch and wristbands
And experience has given me worthwhile uses for my hands.
Time has healed me and relieved me of the sufferer’s throne
I know that the pain
Is not mine to face alone
I have been helped to my feet by a guiding hand
And now I’m helping others who need
My assistance to stand
And the pain inside has been replaced with a feeling so warm
I feel like I’ve found my destiny’s form.