To the healers.
To the healers and the seers.
To the healers and the seers and the doers,
To my beloved empaths.
We can’t heal unless we’re healing, too.
We can’t carry the weight of woe
in our bone marrow, can’t hold the shape
of grief, of trauma, of fear, of shadows
in our hands without sifting through
the sands of our own castles and walls,
questioning why we built them thick
when no amount of matter will protect
us, close our eyes, numb us to the world.
To my beloved empaths,
To the healers and the seers and the doers,
To the healers and the seers.
To the healers.
We can’t heal unless we’re healing, too.
We’re seven different faces on a Tuesday,
appearing still but in constant, motion.
It is not possible to ignore and to grow,
decoupling the two severs us into
fractions that will never become whole.
We are mosaics of stories, of our own
of those around us, our ability to know
ourselves is forever intertwined with our
ability to read and comprehend others.
We can’t heal unless we’re healing, too.
To my healers, my beloved empaths.
love is a four letter word,
dismantling, rebuilding, healing
our selves and ourselves
remains our lifetime.
