The memories drag through me,

rough blades through warm flesh,

reopening old scars,

and making a mess.

I guess they stay for the lessons,

to make sure I know,

somehow to help me,

to heal and to grow.

I wish just for once though,

I could pick out the best,

bask in the life’s good times,

and miss out the rest.

So I breathe slowly and deeply,

wait for the stinging to pass,

I’ll smile through the rough times,

and get an A in this class.

© Paula Jones 2011. All rights reserved.


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