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Poetry & Art

at the kitchen sink

Palms scrubbing, forearms exposed;

months have passed and still, there are remnants jutting from under my clothes.

My heart’s been sewn and yet

those memories still show –

these hands know how it feels to be alone.

Steam and shame,

I see the strokes of my hopelessness.

My mind can cope and yet

my pain is still disclosed.

Others see, others know.

Suds and purity,

pouring over these hands,

dirty.

Grime for all to see.

Still, my past may always be present,

but it won’t own me.

At the kitchen sink, they may always be seen.

But these scars have healed.

I’ve been set free.

If you like this article, check out: https://www.harnessmagazine.com/a-quilt-or-the-way-i-see-my-body/

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by catsally

Hi! My name is Cat, and I am a 21 year old college swimmer studying Social Work who is passionate about all things mental health, musicals, poetry, and water!


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