Wounds

Many have said to me,

“To heal a wound

it must be left alone”.

I, however,

have always been a picker.

My wounds – big or small -

take their sweet time to heal.

And that is because of me…

I cannot

leave them be.

I have numerous scars

on my soft skin

from scrapes and scratches.

Scrapes and scratches

that I could not

leave alone.

I would

pick, prod, and poke

at those scrapes and scratches.

Until they bled again.

And again.

And again.

When I say,

“I have always been a picker”

it started only as physical

but soon progressed

to a mental game.

As I have grown

fewer new scars

appear on my skin.

Instead,

they fill up my heart.

Many people

have come

into my life seemingly

just to leave.

Instead of letting them go,

I pick.

And prod.

And poke.

Hoping to understand

Why.

Hoping to change their mind

even though

every time is the same.

I continue

To hurt myself.

To make my heart bleed

Again,

and again,

and again.

Never fully letting

someone leave,

I continue

to talk to them,

to let them

walk all over me.

Always going back

to those people that

hurt me.

Reopening wounds

that should

– or could –

have healed.

I have always been a picker.

Picking apart

any possibility that could

have caused them

to leave.

My picking

is my worst habit.

And my wounds

agree.

Wounds that seem

as though they

will never heal.

Because I

always go back,

and pick.

And prod.

And poke.

-T.H.