by: Lola Dune
An offering of poetry that cuts straight to the core….
If I was stripped bare.
Each mosaic veined layer peeled away,
I’m terrified by what would remain.
My past haunts me every day,
a looming shadow following me from the time I wake.
Would the self-induced scars
and battle wounds of my youth
leave me a prisoner?
Caged.
Helpless.
A broken body too young to justify the wear.
They say it’s not impossible for rebirth
but I am nobody’s fool.
The damage seeps through faded bandages
holding back something too toxic
to spawn anything pure.
I have a hopeful by my side.
I cling to his every grip.
Filled with childhood naivety
that it will work out this time around.
Despite hesitance, his conviction seduces me to try again.
So the experiment begins,
my forearms wide and exposed.
Is this how crucifixion goes?
The believers with their optimistic whispers add no comfort.
Bruises stain my skin like temporary tattoos,
a watercolor palette a myriad shades of blue.
Unsubtle reminders of a timeline with no success.
If nothing comes of this, will our empty shells be all that’s left?
If I was stripped bare,
pretense would crumble away,
and my actions would be forced to stand alone.
Life would continue all around me,
a cycle too vast to include us all.
