A poem about recovery and renewal
Was I scared of flashing moods?
Sleazy lines of dirt, of crude
Nose bleeds, nails and cuts?
Long wasting of gifts and trust?
Was I scared of made up rules?
Words gruelled and often cruel?
Highs, sighs and ‘why’ goodbyes?
Bare roots cut to demise?
Was I scared of skinny dipping?
Tattoo blooded daring, wincing?
'Desertion Friend' alighting, blighting?
Coward's hand lifting, dragging?
Was I scared of tar and wining?
Headaches after maudlin, limping?
Finger pointing, fuming, feuding?
Mirrors frosting, dripping, rusting?
Was I scared of ever fixing?
Talking, talking, talking, talking?
Owning blame and allocating?
Toxins wrung out, chased out, weakening?
Was I scared before I found you?
Futile echoes will fade as I now live in you.
- Letitia Prescott