Bleeding Wounds
It occurs to me,
when driving along
yellow-lit streets
away from home:
We’ve all
fought helpless battles,
we all have
bleeding wounds.
And I can see it
in your eyes
that you’re wounded
and fear for your life.
Bobby Jorgenson not treating
for shock;
you feel you’re bleeding
out but you walk
with swagger and
laugh at jokes
that make you mad
and make you feel broke.
I see the pain
you think you hide;
you walk in rain
and decline rides.
“I’m here for you”
words I can’t say
from fear of ridicule
and what you’ll say.
I look at you just
like looking in a mirror,
it’s a screaming must:
“Please know I’m here!”
Copyright © Ema Kenyon | Year Posted 2017
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