All My Hurts
I’d like to gather all my hurts
And roll them up like clay,
But you’d be wrong if you assume
I’d throw them all away.
I’d sculpt a statue tall and fierce
And paint it garish hues,
Reflecting all the colors that
In life I’d never choose.
Then I would cart it to a spot
With nothing else around
And with one match, set it ablaze
And burn it to the ground.
Then, once my hurts were in a heap
Of ashes, I’d feel free
To focus on the things I need
To be a lighter me.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2017
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