Healing

 

Scars doesn't mean we are broken; it means we've survived. 

I've got a throat

 clouded with sores,  

defined by pain unending, 

So I thought. 

 I ate the best of food.

 They had rigid bones that scraped my oesophagus, 

yet they made me smile. 

My face – always open, 

cause they made my belly full.

 You'll starve, they cursed, 

if mom hear you moan. 

 I was scared, I didn't care.

 What if I purge at their service? 

 What if they'll never go down my belly? 

Like leaves on a tree, 

 what if they fall and leave me empty? 

 My silence deafened mom's ears.

 But now I recall. 

 I was hurt by the food I cherished the most. 

There's nothing more. 

 I'm a newborn, 

 though one with scars.

 

I'm stronger now. 

 Even when I'm served with the same hurt, 

 I pick out the bones, consume the edibles. 

That's how wise I've come to be, 

 cause the one who first loved me gave me the key to live.

As days goes to weeks and months and years, we begin to understand that healing isn't just about medicine or time. It's about learning from pain and growing stronger. We often cherish the things that hurt us, unaware of the damage until we step back.

In this poem, Healing, I reflect on pain, nourishment and wisdom that comes from choosing what truly sustains us.

Like wounds that scar but no longer bleed, healing is a journey of awareness and strength.

What have you learned to leave behind in your healing journey?

  ✍️Goodness Makuochukwu.