149/365: Curative Care

You want to seek the fearful out, at times,
and become the ugly thing,
the monster that follows,
the beast that yearns
to tear through muscle and bone.

It would be delicious
to embody that ugliness,
to leave blood on the floor
and have them mop up this work
they began years ago.

And then, when all that's done,
you imagine you would gather them together,
after their bones have healed
and the scars are there to trace,
like the parent who sets things right,
the one who torments
with a curative care,
because you know you love the things that break you
and move behind you through your night.


I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.