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Where the Healing Lives

Another Poppy's Poem

By David MuñozPublished 2 months ago 1 min read
4
Where the Healing Lives
Photo by Pedro Lastra on Unsplash

A teacher asked me, "What was your earliest memory of loss?"

I had no answer for her. Much of my childhood stays blocked and dark, concealed in the recesses of my mind. A function of the PTSD, you see.

I think of it as black mold in my brain: dangerous, unsafe, unstable. Gargoyles warning me away from the residual ripples of fear, powerlessness, shame. A compass spinning wildly, entreating me go any direction but there.

"Here be monsters," says a spiderweb hiss. "Enter here and be doomed."

An Americana bodhisattva reminds me about little demons on temple doors. "Get past what scares you," he sings in a growling drawl.

I draw breath and move onward, towards the sacred ground

where the healing lives.

Free Verse
4

About the Creator

David Muñoz

I'm a recovering artist in Austin, Texas. Stoic student, mystic, writer, poet, guitarist, father, brother, son, friend. I am an eternal soul living a human experience. Part of that experience is working through my stuff by making art.

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Comments (3)

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  • Poppy 2 months ago

    So unique and expertly crafted. The idea and description of 'a black mould in my brain' was so well done. You really succeeded in creating a tone that made this poem very memorable.

  • Oooo, this was so profound! Loved your take on this!

  • Vividly written poem with a hopeful ending.

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