You held their skeletons away from the closet
Placed in a drawer beneath your bed for safekeeping
So that their suitcases might be lighter
And their smiles tear wrinkles in the skin
You clutch their dark stars as if it were a gift
Honoring it with vulnerable caution
Handling its weight without malice
And with each unpacked soul
And every filled box
Came a protective glow
A candlelit fondness for the items and stories
Of grief, of pain foaming at the mouth
The respect for hardship and its place in our lives
The pride that we address in our scars;
Moreover pride in that we dress our scars
To wrap a wound in silk
To weave sorrow into the very thread of our being
You gaze into a drawer filled with trinkets of affliction
And found that there was only life
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Learning
PoetryShe's a working progress. - Part II: are you ready? you're here. Second collection of vent(?) poetry. Sometimes posts on other sites as @alessandro Cover created with stock photos and Snapseed
