When they tell you
to make art of your pain
they don’t tell you
that you’re going to feel it
so deeply that it
rewrites your insides
like doodles
on scraps of paper
that harden into glass and scrape
your insides raw red
that each of those glass shards
are pieces of a
shattered heart
that you can’t quite
remember the shape of
that your fingers will bleed on
each hard edge wiggled
into place
in this miserable mosaic
that breathes with the artist’s breath
just barely
—
April PAD day 8 - “they never tell you” poem
