They said it is a talent

and I suppose in a way it is.

Poetry can be beautiful.

It can be cathartic.

An opportunity to articulate

what you may never be able to vocalise.

But it can also be a punishment

because those words are still there after,

dormant on the paper,

to reread and reopen

the wounds you were trying to close.

It doesn't matter how softly

you place your feet on those words

and carefully pace their meaning.

You can't heal wounds

if you continue to crush their stitches

with your heels.