The Way Damage Can Be Beautiful

The way damage can be beautiful
rips open my heart with tender
hands; strong, calloused, skillful.

There must be a reason, as
reason assures the process.
"Hold still," it says.

I think it's called
Transformation.

The crowning head pressing
through the fabric of life,
ripping a centimeter of wholeness.
Soon to be stitched.
Healed with poultices of comfrey.

The irregular scar, twisted
in patterns of can't-be-forgotten
injury, demanding attention
and compassion for what was
and who is wearing it.
Distinguished.

The harsh words reminding me
that I am, in fact, sensitive and
loving, provoking me to call in
more conversation to clarify
and understand.
Planting feet on the foundation
of love.

My harsh words that want to cut
through the bullshit of life,
always showing up as other but
bringing me back to self,
inviting inner awareness.
Do I allow for healing?

Sitting beside the one you
love most, witnessing the
destruction of terminal illness
as breathing becomes
hauntingly raw.
The sacredness of the threshold
that only one of you enters.
​
Yet, we all must enter, and some
kind of damage will take us there.
We all must enter.
And I trust in the beauty of that.

---