12: Comfort - Dec 2021

Warm Black Hug

Sometimes it comes back,
like a warm black hug,
that familiar, settled, heavy blanket.

I spent years with a seam ripper, trying to rip each stitch apart before their shredded threads would sew themselves in again,
to make up for what was missing.
Eventually, I finally broke it - the weight became too heavy in the bathtub. soaking through. I lost it then. I lost it in the tub, with my guitar and my bruises, and my small voice being drowned out.
I lost it then. my watercolors and ink seeping over my boney frame. on the street trying to clean up my soul. on the pier, head flying (voices crushing), pushing away an unwanted touch. 
I shed that blanket for a little while. took on something else. stopped taking on myself. let go of my will. I submitted to the Mayflower. I earned my freedom 15.
and then I moved past. past the cannon that shook me and brought my epiphany. past my love of the beautifully scarred. of finding the beauty in hurt and in self deprecation.
but that blanket had soaked right into my core.
And sometimes,
not just the anxiety of my shot nerves, but a piece of the old, heavy, blanket comes to settle. I don’t mind its steadiness. It quiets my spiraling thoughts, that heavy hug. It comes like a part of myself that I lost. Lost with my independence, my love of music, and my makers heart.

I pull it over me, and sink, into calm.

- Megan Powers

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *