There is a pride in preserving yourself
from getting hurt more,
like pulling your hand from the fire
when the warmth threatens pain.
*
The old scars stitched in your skin don’t need to open,
no one kisses them shut,
not the ones who helped them
unravel.
They made it a spectacle to see how far you would fall from your morals,
phantoms of people; ghosts of sympathy, empathy,
those that are so jealous of your life they want to possess it
just to ruin it.
*
There is a pride in preserving yourself,
and not losing who you are to those
who don’t even come to your house anymore.
*
Sage sings smoke,
wreathing the scars,
kissing the white wires
before evaporating,
taking the remnants of demons with it.
*
Picture from Pinterest.
*
The Word Not World Series (WNW) is an interactive anthology where, once a week, I share a photo and peers give me words that inspired them. Their words inspire poetry, like this one. This poem was inspired by “pride,” by @kbjwrites (IG) and “goodbye,” by my mama, and “kisses,” by @myleshungerford (IG).
Thank you for your inspiration. If you would like to join in on the fun, I post the picture prompt every Saturday on Substack, and my Instagram page @enis.st.sparrow