scarred and crumpled

it sits in me, it pulls

a threat of my own making

but I soothe it to sleep, and take care of its scars

a damaged soul with broken wings

a white dove that still wants to fly, despite it all, all that has crushed it

I will embrace it and keep it warm

hoping to heal as many wounds as I can

it sits in me, it pulls

on the days when my thoughts are too touchable,

physical by choice that was not my own

to damage my own roots, is my common ground, does not hurt that much

anymore / just steady illness

as long the hurt does not spread to you,

because then and o n l y then will it turn to real pain, that leaves nothing

but bleeding cries