The Restless Poet

My wounds were never closed.
They became the doorway to my soul.

Bleeding the poetry in my pain
and the healing in my heartache.

I thought I needed to escape them
but the gospel was in facing Goliath.

I sought the darkness,
crawling into the cobwebbed caverns
and undressing the past in all its messiness.

I sat with my demons,
allowing my angels to wrap their arms around me
until the truth let in the light.

To become brave enough
to seduce the shadows,
lick the lacerations
and unapologetically marry my chaos
in the face of fear.

I found intimacy in ravaging my rage,
baring the dripping stains of my scars,
unhinging my grief,
and releasing the teeth tearing into my flesh.

I fell from the highest branches
so I could make peace with the ground I was buried beneath.