Growing Around the Wound

Not all things heal clean.

Wounds stay.
Some change shape.
Some become terrain.

I chased a cure
like it was the only way forward.

Healing was a math problem,
and I was always missing
the right formula.

What I wanted was to become
the person I was before.
A body that didn't ration
every step.

That person is gone.

And I punished
the version that lives.

I chased the cure.
The expectations didn't fit.

I didn't need to be cured.

I needed to be real.

I saw a tree split by lightning,
hollow at the center.

Still alive.
Leafing.
Reaching for the sun.

Not healed over.

Grown around the damage.

That's what I want now.

To grow around it.
To choose expansion.

Space for softness.
For slowness.
For small joys.

Pain is real.

So is life.

Both can be true.

Like that tree,
I still stretch toward the light.

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* peer reflections: not medical or therapy advice. *