Healing - Scars Unfurling

The lie they tell, a whispered, sugared thing,

Is healing dawns like sunrise, gold and clean.

But truth cracks rough, a jagged, broken wing,

And healing wears a coat of bitter green.

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It tastes of salt, the tears you thought you'd dried,

A phantom limb that aches with every breath.

It claws its way from depths you thought you'd hide,

A screaming birth, a dance with shadowed death.

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There are days the mirror shows a stranger's face,

A landscape ravaged by a storm within.

And grace, that fragile, ever-elusive grace,

Is lost within the battle to begin.

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Don't be fooled by promises of ease,

Or pictures painted pretty, smooth, and bright.

For healing often crawls on wounded knees,

And stumbles blindly through the darkest night.

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But in the grit, the grime, the aching bone,

A strength is forged, a spirit starts to bloom.

The scars remain, a testament, a stone,

To battles fought, emerging from the tomb.

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So let it rage, this tempest in your soul,

Let ugliness and anger have their say.

For in the wreckage, you will find a whole,

A self reborn, and stronger than the day

You first began to mend, to rise, to pray.

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This poem was born from observing the often-unspoken truth that healing is not always a graceful, linear process. Inspired by conversations with friends navigating their own journeys of recovery, I wanted to capture the raw, sometimes messy reality of mending. While writing, I felt a mix of empathy, sadness, and a fierce hope. The message I hope to convey is that it's okay for healing to be imperfect, painful, and even ugly at times; what matters is the courage to keep going. I feel proud of the final product, as it doesn't shy away from the less palatable aspects of recovery. A personal experience of witnessing a loved one's struggle with mental health heavily influenced the poem, highlighting the theme of resilience in the face of adversity and the motif of scars as symbols of survival, not defeat.