fresh flesh

left untouched
for far too long
old memories
by following
the road map
etched deep
into childhood

i don’t like
where i am
but i need
to find a way
to pry these
barnacles loose
from the fragments
of who i
very nearly
once could have been.

not allowing
the anchors
lovingly forged
around my
unlovingly cared for
sense of
self abuse
to dig in
and poison us
as it has so much
in the past.

love is a balm
across the burnt
flesh of maternal
but reflection
may be the key
to growing
fresh flesh
for you to
absent mindedly
run your fingers over.

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