My Soul and I
On a path to self-discovery, this narrator questions her willingness to save herself.
If I could multiply or manifest
My soul into something tangible
Would she kneel at my side
Scoop up my chin, and
Wipe the tears from my eyes?
Would she understand the things I can't say
Or would she let the silence hang
In rooms darkened by shame?
Could she demonstrate?
Is she kind enough to partake
A simple gesture to placate the ache?
Would she give me strength?
What of solitude?
I can't shoulder it alone but
I'm too anxious to find you
There's a woman in the mirror
I don't recognize
Is she here to help me
To aid in my self-discovery
Or does she plan to sit idly by
If I go to her with a knife jammed into my side
Will she perform first aid
Or rejoice that I might die?
Who am I, inside?
About the Creator
Bethanie Sherwood
Writer + Illustrator in northwest Iowa. Previously known as Ziza Dabbles. Check out more of my work, here!
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More stories from Bethanie Sherwood and writers in Poets and other communities.
Bandaid
There’s a bandaid on my foot. I was standing in the doorway one moment, and just the next, the abhorrent strip of adhesive was plastered to my flesh. How did it get there? What does it want? You know, it’s peculiar, just yesterday there was one on my hand. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’ve stumbled upon something quite strange. But of course, I haven’t. What oddity would it be for an old woman to have not one but three bandaids clinging to her aging skin?
By Bethanie Sherwoodabout a year ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A very poignant poem yet so beautifully written!