By Kena James

Healed.

I never fully understood what it meant for a cut to heal.

Wounded,

Cyclically carrying the burden night after night 

only to form a scab.

The intermission to regeneration

Though, we tend to not mind it.

after all,  the body does most of the healing when sleep anyway

I walk through life as open red flesh

Feeling, the slightest sensation that grace my presence.

Tendons and nerves loose for the world to exploit.

I scab at the love missed.

Only to be reborn.

Healed.