In a world that often encourages us to tuck away our emotional scars and move on, have you ever found yourself the unwitting curator of your own wounds? The poem we delve into today splendidly captures this duality of our human experience—the desire to heal versus the haunting tendency to reopen what we thought was mended.
The poet yearns to be the soothing balm, the thread that neatly stitches up life’s frayed edges, yet acknowledges the inevitable pull of memory that sometimes compels us to confront the pain once again. With each line, you can feel the weight of this struggle—to be nurturing, yet also the one who pokes and prods at the past. If you’ve ever wrestled with the juxtaposition of healing and remembrance, then this piece will resonate deeply with you.
So, let’s take this opportunity to explore the intricate layers of emotion that poetry can unveil… and as always, there’s much more waiting for you to discover. LEARN MORE.
There is no need, they say
to reopen the wounds, and I would
not want that to be my vocation
I would rather be the staple
that closes up the gash, or the thread
running through the seam
I would rather be the bandage
covering the soreness, or the light
and arid balm spread across skin
But sadly sometimes I am the one
who reopens, prods, and remembers.
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