In the Name of Care

I walked into silence, the clinic's stark light,

where antiseptic lingers, sharp as a bite.

Caught in the mirror, my reflection laid bare,

a smear of iodine, a mark of my care.

The bottle lies waiting, its cap cracked and worn,

while wounds of the past flicker bright as the dawn.

The stinging reminds me of things I won’t face,

a vulnerability carved in this space.

In the stillness, I ponder the weight of my skin,

a moment of care, where healing begins.

But the darkness can creep through a sliver of light—

how fragile this body, this struggle, this fight.