Boundaries and Scabs

[anirbas]

You do not really want to go there.
Picking and poking at others scabs.

Seeking glistening tears of ruby
at the seams of the seen and the unseen.

One might uncover an abysmal
green sea of pulsillanimous pus.

An odiferous stench which could curl
your nose and your dratted toes!

Or, far worse. Overwhelm your joy.
Drown you in unexpected sorrow.

Or you might find you're pissing at the feet
of warriors with your insouciant arrogance.

You do not really want to go there.
Picking and poking at others scabs.

[heartfelt7]

Wow! How did I miss this? Perhaps we're too afraid to pick at our own scabs, so we pick at "others." But me thinks we all carry the same wounds, and things might heal better if we just pick at our own scabs and let them drain, and air, and heal. That might be a good job for poetry.