It is the words that stay
long after the faces have faded;
the words are the treasures,
of such great worth that
when used poorly they do not
simply fade into a background
but stand like sentries
at the entrance to a heart,
beating out all other words
intended for good
Grow a thicker skin, they said,
but, alas, I cannot. This is me,
the thinnest skin around,
everything sinking in like it
holds the key to me, or, rather,
locks the truth in a dark dungeon
And so it is not easy to simply
grow a thicker skin
How does one do such a thing?
How does one put on dismissal,
become someone they were not
only moments before,
ignore the ones who
slash and scrape?
They say they cannot
teach me anything,
that the words must be
burned in a blaze,
but this, too, is not so easy
The words are my blaze
burning away my pieces,
charring sacred spaces,
consuming who I was
But perhaps this is not
so awful a purpose at all
It is only in the burning
that one rises from the ashes
in a splendid newness,
with a stronger construction,
as a more secure human being
And so
I let
them
burn
This is an excerpt from Textbook of an Ordinary Life: poems. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by Austin Neill on Unsplash)
