Dating : Slices

Slicing pain, not smooth or clean,

Cuts from a serrated knife — jagged and torn,

Deep in my soul crawls the pain,

It’s all-consuming when you make another slice.

Are you aware of your ripping jagged slices?

Over and over again they come without warning.

I breathe purposefully,

Trying to contain this overwhelming pain,

For some it easy to move through,

But this brand of pain is sticky and suffocating.

Do you see my sown blue lips?

Thrice decades of fighting to rise above the pain.

Seeping down my throat and into my ears,

wrapping itself around my heart and squeezing,

My eyes release its gelatinous painful overflow,

All of me — every soulful cell is drenched.

Will you ever truly look at me — all of me?

See me more than the vessel of your descent.

Seeking our goodness to cool the pain,

Using my unwavering love to stretch its viscous restraint,

In silence, I heal your slices,

Sitting in darkness I peel the layers of tears.

Can my soul survive another thrice times ten?

“Yes… of course,” I answer myself.

My scars will never fully impede my unequivocal love.