I cut my hand on the bus today,
accidentally on purpose.
I cannot explain to you
how elated I was
and think you’d be able to fathom it.
I was able to feel pain.
For those of you who
think this is about me being “emotionally numb“,
I am happy,
Finally I feel a pain
I can do something about.
I can see it, touch it, and I can nurture it.
I rushed home,
instead of grabbing the alcohol,
I grabbed the peroxide,
Washed my hands twice,
and applied an even coat of Neosporin.
I dropped everything when I entered my room.
I laid on my bed, staring at in awe of my palm.
I cannot stop smiling.
I have been hurt, but
I can do something about it.
I can see the wound, putting a band-aid for comfort.
I can watch my bodies progression, as the new skin arrives,
reminding me that this pain is only temporary.
Overjoyed that I remember my blood is red and not black.
I guess you can say,
it cut me on the right hand,
This pain influenced this poem, so I took some advice and