similar but not the same

Photo by Javardh

It is an acute kind of thing.
It comes in
like a freshly sharpened arrow,
piercing the tenderest place
where I tie the myself to the world.

These are not the same arrows,
that severed my sense
of belonging
so long ago.

This feeling,
this reaction…
feels similar.
But, I know,
it is not the same.

Still,
the arrows sting
when they pierce
my delicate,
scarred layers.
As if their heads
were dipped in poison.

I’ve been too cautious
to be curious,
all these years,
about incoming arrows.
Instead,
I swipe them fiercely
from the air.
Sometimes,
even before they arrive.

Each,
a new lesson I heed,
in who can be trusted
and a fateful addition
to my trembling quiver.

I’ve built up
quite an arsenal,
should I ever
feel pressured
to return the sting.
Though,
I rarely do.

Rather,
my attention is spent,
mending my wounds
humbling my ego
and striving to alchemize my hurt,
into medicine for others.

Something bewildering
happened today.
A new arrow,
came into my frame,
whispering gently
as it whizzed by,
“be curious.”

And so,
curious I was
and held out my hand
to inspect this new foe.
Finding,
to my surprise,
I was holding a feather,
not an arrow.

for MKC