Naked

Healing was messyMy once hampered heart,longing to be free ofsadness and pain,was clothed infancy garmentsthat hid my scars andsome still gaping, festering,pus-filled wounds —remnants ofharm from others,harm done by meto others.

Before I could healand let go ofwhat ailed me,I needed to bare all,strip offthe shirt of shame,peel off pantsheld up by self-pity,buttoned up by pain.

I removed every layerthat hidthe inner turmoil,all the way down to andincluding the ugly underwear of uneasinessthat came with re-awakeningchildhood ghosts, a bogeymannobody wants to face.

I took it all offso that I couldreclaim my power,heal myself,love myself,know myself.There I stoodin the mirror of my mind,emotionally, in the flesh,fully exposed,completely vulnerable,crying out for the world to see.

I had to become nakedto heal.