Peeling Back Layers

Sitting in silence, the TV hums low,

my fingers find edges, and nerves start to grow.

A Band-Aid has nestled itself against skin,

a small battle fought quietly, now ready to win.

I peel back the corners, a gasp caught in air,

the sharp pull of the paper, a thrill I can bare.

It feels like revealing old wounds, old seams,

where tenderness lingers, collapsing in dreams.

This layer of comfort I seek to ignore,

disguises the softness that I hide, but implore.

Beneath is the texture of moments embraced,

in peeling it back, the truth's often faced.