Your bones are beautiful,
and your bruises are art;
But a skeleton’s not an easel
for ecchymotic scars.
Your words are so concealed,
too carefully hand-picked,
a staccato of hidden meaning —
Then, your voice smiles away.
You say you deserve it,
and the networks inside
tighten and twist below my sternum —
How did you learn those words?
In them you hid yourself,
lost your dreams in color.
I would stitch myself into the night,
to guide them back to you.
And in the deepest blues,
obscured in hazy hues,
you might find the parts that have been lost –
Return to something new.
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.