I’ve been thinking about soul wounds
again and the people
who caused them, and it’s not fair –
they gouged me, tore a hole in my flank,
left their mark, then left.
They didn’t stick around to clean up
the mess,
patch the wound,
nurse me back to health.
Or maybe I’m the one that ran off
– stopped giving them an easy target.
Either way, I’m still changing bandages
and they’ve moved on.
How is that fair?
What’s wrong with me that I can’t
let bygones go?
Or maybe it’s not all on me
to try and band-aid
all the bullet holes?
Is it too wrong that I want them to hurt too?
Not anything bad
like death,
but maybe a punch or two.
Right in the kisser.
Pen in Motion 