The bandage lifts in slow rebellion

The bandage lifts in slow rebellion,

corner curling like a tired breath.

Skin raw beneath, itching like a lie,

that need to scratch away the quiet burn.

Fingertips twitch near the scar,

half-remembered pain pulling sharp

underneath the skin’s soft cover,

telling me to break the silence,

to peel back and start again.

But scratching only tears

what’s just barely holding,

so I hold still,

feel the itch swallow the ache

and learn to wait.