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Poetry title Goes Here

The heart space  wrenches open
the rend         of bone and flesh
fused together  for as long 
as the mind   was wrested
and I embrace     the shock of feeling
and now   there is nowhere else to go
and                the tears today I realise
always    were                                relief.

Fifteen                  separate interpretations
of the damage       I am begging to ignore
as the language      no longer lets me hide
and so it is  a different form of tension
this      is all                    that I can ever do.
I don’t care      it's not sugar-coated
some sleight of hand   complex set of forms

that will                  present without emotion
which    will condemn. Unless this time
I stop and listen          to the inside
as  the semicolon on my wrist
reminds me of the path
I chose not to take

and suddenly am truly grateful for.
That  it is     still life
that  this is healing
that          it is time
the heart                      is coming home.

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Written and copyright S. Reeson © 2026

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