It feels like an open wound
Though I’m not sure
Who is wounded,
Hearing her pain
Through her poetry and prose
With nobody to deal with it
Except herself,
A lost sheep desperate
To get back to the flock
Though it is not clear
Who her flock is,
The confusion of emotion,
Mingling with a need of change,
Posting photos from a clinic
She hopes will provide
A cure,
Not from what she thinks
She suffers,
From some deeper
More fundamental
Disturbance,
That has kept her
Sheltering in shells
To keep safe,
Exposed recently,
And scrambling,
The hawks and gulls
Of this ruthless world
Hovering over her,
Always ready
To pounce
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