Growing Around the Wound

Not all things heal clean, wounds stay,
some change shape, some become terrain.

Chasing cure like the only way.
Healing was a math problem
missing the right formula.
Better was returning the person before,
a body that didn't ration every step.
That person is gone and I
punished the version that lives.

Chasing cure, expectations didn't fit.
Didn't need to be cured, need to be real.

Saw a tree split by lightning, hollow at the center.
Still alive, leafing, reaching for the sun.
Not healed over, grown around damage.

What I want now, grow around it, choose expansion.
Space for softness, slowness, small joys.
Pain is real, so is life, both true.
Like that tree, I still stretch to light.

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* peer reflections: not medical or therapy advice. *