Healing in Wrecks

- Kimimila DeCory (Minnesota, USA)

And so it starts with a

Mistake: my rotting curls only ever soak in lightning. 

And it’s because the bolts fry the split ends into oblivion, 

abandoning me with shivering follicles.

In other words

My naked, scalp was burdened with

Holes that can barely hold obscured puddles.

And it’s a pity, because

With missing chaos there’s an entire sky to reflect, but with deprival

The water will eventually slip away like an aching sweat. 

Well I guess if I had my brown, disheveled strands

The rushing rain could splatter into the cherished innocence 

They wouldn’t escape in the openness, no, they would form droplets. 

Yes….

They would journey upon the wild length, and even nourish my knots longer

But it’s all gone, and for the first time 

I want it to grow. 

Ends with a

Correction: I learn when my curls rot from lighting 

It is only when I seize a perish, does the strike of loss

See something worth mourning 

So- a simple shower won’t do, instead 

wreck me with lighting 

Soak me in wreckage 

Wreck me 

Because those who are wrecked, are those who can heal. 

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