In Praise of Merthiolate
I prefer to choose the time and method
of my bleeding,
to choose the wounds and ply them with Merthiolate,
that short period of intense pain,
exposure to air and vulnerability,
to tell my own tales of failure and brokenness,
to reduce my own image to a burning truth
of neither perfection or shambles,
but simple humanity,
to rob the vendors of doom and ire of their opportunity
to bind me in fear.
So do not look here for halos,
for storybook beauty or happy endings
without struggle or plodding.
My life is one of constant exposure and confession,
of choosing to be vulnerable
only to find that other’s ropes
and the scars I bear
are mine alone.
About this poem
Yes, there is a story behind this poem. No, I won’t tell it to you. A few things I keep to myself.
I will tell you however, that I love Merthiolate. A few seconds of pain, and it’s over. This whole lingering, stringing out the pain thing is not for me. Orange color optional.