I'm always afraid of the knife and scalpel.
His hands are deft as they carve. He's used them before.
Deadly accuracy.
The blood pooled and framed me. Marinated me.
I lied so still for so long that I thought I'd gone blue.
But somehow I grew back and I
crawled.
Stumbled to my feet.
But somehow I found myself back together.
Whole but scarred and still the fear.
Last night I looked into those cold blue eyes again.
And I thought of that knife and how it hurt
as it gouged through my muscles and carved between
my ribs. Scraping against the bone like a fork against
a porcelin plate.
He grabbed my knee--laughing. Seemingly so innocent.
But I thought of the scalpel and how it parted my skin
and bared my everything.
He told me he was sorry and that it hurt him too
but how can he know how the knife and the scalpel felt.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid he'll cut me yet. I'll be left
to grow myself together again.
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2 comments:
Nice slant rhymes in here & I like the rhythm! I' mhappy to be reading some amy poems again
Also thanks fir your sweet comments! I love being able to look back at my resolutions every year, you should try it!
Amy, you never cease to amaze me! I love reading your poetry! I miss you and I hope life is going great for you!
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