For three years, I've had a bullet in my chest.
Joan Didion wrote
Do not whine. Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone.Like any good disciple, I listened.
Sometimes the bullet was soft, pink, gooey, barely there.
Sometimes it burned blue with heat
& I laid in bed wondering if the work would kill me.
I did not whine when the solitude sawed my body in half.
I did not complain when I walked for hours, trying to get the sound of a sentence right.
I bled politely all over I went.
It is April. The work is done.
Look, I have plucked the bullet from my body.
I am not alone. I am alive.
Purple wildflowers blooming everywhere.
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An Exit Wound That Feels too Good@TeenageLife1111