Here is what I know
Head, throat, chest burns
Prompting event: Emotional Pain
Feeling: Anger
Rage
then sadness abundant
as weeds choking an unattended garden.
If I am fortunate, the healing leaves little scarring.
Root around, deeper into the spiral of self, and find
Me, a small child, weeping.
If I am lucky, the decaying leaves that once provided warmth
I may brush away. I may claw at the rot
mixed into my foundation and pause to see the finer grains:
I AM WEAK. I WILL BE HURT. I AM A TUMBLEWEED.
I am unlovable.
What can grow from here, I wonder?
The ladder to empyreal redemption?
Follow the string, child, and the yarn I tell myself unravels.
H.M.K. 