When I sat down and wrote this poem, I was at one of the lowest points of my year, where the only thing keeping me going was the thought that maybe seeing a physical therapist would help fix my sleepless nights, my back pain, and the constant pain that wracked every part of my body as the medications I was taking took their toll on me. I was focused solely on surviving in a way I hadn’t been forced to in decades and while I clearly survived, that period of my life cost me something that’s taking a while to come back, even as my body feels better and my sleep returns to a more normal pattern. Now, I am acutely aware of some of my behavioral ticks that I’d written off for a long time and can’t ignore what they mean any longer. Which is where this poem comes in. I’ll let you decide for yourself what all this adds up to.

Have you ever considered why you press on a bruise?

Ignore the accidents of embodiment,
The repetition of clumsy movement that put it there in the first place,
And the attentive desire to feel the dull throb of pain
That calls to some unspeaking part of your brain
The same way that vast waters, towering cliffs, and high speeds
Call to a part of you that isn’t concerned with safety
But acknowledgement of its inverse
And the place that endings have in your life.

Have you taken one step past those justifications
And asked yourself why your self,
The part of you beneath those waking thoughts,
Plants the idea in your head
Or directs you to take unthinking action
That will almost assuredly cause you pain?

Have you considered why you remind yourself of an injury past–
One with no blemish to thumb,
No tactile reminder to speak of what has transpired,
No hint of its existence beyond the visual–
When it could just as easily be entirely forgotten?

Have you ever asked of your innermost mind
Why you take the time to press on a bruise
When it will hurt more or less than it did the last time
You examined its lurid hues
Or were forced to search out what fading remnants
Still linger after time has worked its magic?

Can you ask such a question of your silent self
Without learning something more than what intent
Exists beyond this small, inconsequential, self-inflicted pain?