What It Is to Feel


I once fell down and scraped my knee.
I saw the drops of what was inside me,
And I wasn’t hurt nor angry, but I did scream.
I remember a bandage and a kiss on the small scrape,
Not even large enough to warrant a band but it was the thought that counted.
I’m falling now and I am wanting to flee and escape.
But the relentless tumble is inevitable and the edges rounded.
I see the air, like memories I cannot control,
And smell the fear, a garden fruit I cannot hold.
I spiral downward in a smooth, gloriously perfect spiral,
And don’t reach for anything, plain or vital.
Because there isn’t a bandage large enough to cover my soul.
There isn’t a hug or a kiss that can heal, however comprehensible, a self-inflicted hole.
I once cried out at the blood that was now out,
Afraid that I was able to see the inside of me, wondering and frightened at what that meant.
I could see the tangible then and can see the conceptual from within now without
And now my screams are silent as I see the beast now unleashed for interior torment
Heaving apart my thoughts and rearranging them into notions too extracorporeal.
I will fall until infinity ends, needing a bandage to cover the too big hole of what it is to feel.

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