i hide the cuts
and call it healing.
i smile enough
to look like feeling.

i bled to feel,
then felt too much.
so now i flinch
at even touch.

no big event,
no cry for aid.
just pain, then choice,
then steel, then blade.

the scars are thin,
but memory lingers.
i still see red
between my fingers.

they call it pain,
i call it mine.
i earned the blood,
i crossed the line.

Sitting at this table,
My sisters in their place,
My brother at the top,
With a baby by his waist.

We’re mostly parents now,
With our kids in tow,
But when I look at your faces,
I see the little kids I used to know.

We all have our own lives,
Of our own creation,
No longer just play pretend
On some summer vacation.

A brand new generation,
Being raised by us,
They’re little and young and free,
And I love them all so much.

Even when I don’t see them,
Or weather cancels our plans,
Being a sister, a mother, an aunt-
The best roles I could ever land.

And we’ll sit here at this table,
Loud, chaotic, and such,
Often I’m sad, honestly mad,
But in this moment, life has given me so much.