Damaged Goods

When winter blows in

My mind flies south

Predators got to me early

Forming my pliable brain

I apparently didn’t get herpes or HIV

Though I just as easily could have

All those naked penises were guns loaded with bullets I couldn’t see: viruses, bacteria and potential pregnancy

I am thankful for my good luck

When I rub one out

I get my rocks off from the perspective of my almost-rapists

Not my actually rapists

But the ones who backed away in time

My youth brought both lure and protection

The ideal never meets the real

Hold on to your ideals, your fantasies of how great life could be

We all hunger for more

I pick up what is left of my ravaged flesh and carry on

They left me alive so far, perhaps to feast on me again

I strengthen and heal

Yet still I feel damaged

The burnt tree stands tall despite it all

It wears its charred scar well

The wound is a part of its heart which keeps beating

In tune with the heartbeat of the earth, and the heartbeat of the past, present and future trees

I settle into the rhythm

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