Contortionist

I have these wounds.

Here. Let me show you.

Maybe you will

Recognize them.

I got this one when

I was four years old.

My father hurt me.

It has never healed.

It doesn’t matter

What he did

Or what I did

Or whether it was

Deserved.

The edges are ragged

Because I have worried them.

And it does not

Always bleed like this.

It is only bleeding now

Because you’re here

And I am talking about it.

And this other one

My mother gave me.

It is much newer

So the edges are smooth

But it bleeds all the time.

Then there is this burn

It goes deep, deep.

It came from a lover.

It has crusted over

And it only hurts

If I touch it

So I leave it alone.

I may twist myself

Around and the

Tangled contortions

I get myself into

May seem odd

But they keep me

From feeling the pain.

They keep me

From hurting

These old wounds.

And these twists and

Turns, these

Humps and crouches

These tortured poses

Are kind of

Beautiful.

Aren’t they?