Processing.12 The Final Beginning

Ice ship crushing through Arctic layers
City navigating through crush of people
Walls around them each one hard
Hurts to be human, I think

Chaos of colors of faces of postures
Cacophony of winds, car horns, hawkers,
Pigeon cooings, baby cries, screeching tires,
Filtering din, discerning images fluxing
Twirling and spinning reality

Wounded healers, wounded warriors,
Wounded hearts gaping with their pain
Making patches, band aids, plaster covers
Pretending the wounds are not there

But they are, sacred blood oozing unseen
Felt, perceived, recognized
This is why they build their Walls
On the outside so I am buffeted
Pushed around, bashed by walls invisible
Real like bricks, like wood, like cement
But imperceptible to The Normals

Yet they see my walls, my interior
Walls; they want me to come outside my
Walls; but their Walls are acceptable
Their wounded, bandaged hearts
Reeking of pain, of fear, of anger
Stop building layers of hiding

Let the wounds be
Through those gaping holes pours
Light; through the piercings shines
The truth of personhood

If you want me to come out
From behind my walls
Lower yours