Cut

This prompt by @nimila has been haunting my feed so I wanted to give it a shot.

It wasn’t the cut

I felt.

It wasn’t pain.

It was the blood slipping out,

the iron in the air,

rusty and sudden,

like the blade had been old

before it ever touched me.

The skin gave up—-

trying to hold it in.

This one was a release.

Someone in the room needed out.

This cut was sharp,

kind in its precision.

The healing is where the pain lived.

The song the scars sang with soul,

the needle resting in the deep, deep…groove,

like our favorite sad song,

stuck in only minor keys.

Can you hear the beautiful pain when you know the cut is deepest?

The skin was zipped too tight to hold it in.

It

Just

Broke

Loose

The scar,

the tear,

bonded badly.

Imperfectly formed reminder.

A cute little seam.

A little weatherproofing

over the place

where the truth got free that time.

I promise next time

I’ll be careful.

I swear.

I won’t slip with the blade.

I won’t slip.

I won’t.

I’m so clumsy.

Until oops, it’s open again.

Warm surprise.

Again.

Words through the skin,

slick as blood,

out before I knew

there was an exit.

The blade was sharp.

Accidents happen.

I’ll do it again and again.

To CUT out the parts I don’t want to hear.

To expose the parts that don’t belong.

To make room for the space that lets the song breathe.

To mix my psalm, the way I need it to be heard.

If the blade is my tool,

Sharp, is my tool.

Oops.

Accidents will happen.

And we’ll do it again and again to write another sad song.

So that everyone else can cry too.