Poem: Behind the Storefronts

Behind the Storefronts

The doors open to the alleyway.
There are no signs.
Those who know, know
what lies within,
where to go and who to call
when there are secret pains, secret losses,
secrets to be kept and healed
behind closed doors.

There is no shame in it,
and yet here we are, in the alleyway hoping
no one will see us enter, or leave,
knowing people will talk,
they will use their own imaginations.
Facts be damned, more comfortable with the fantasies,
the fiction, fanning the flames.

And inside? Away from the streets?
The healing comes slow.
Painfully. Slow.
But it comes, here in the dark rooms
that open to the alleyway.

About this poem

Despite everything we know, there are still stigma for the emotional and mental struggles a huge portion of our world battles. It is maddening. Cruel. And wrong. Damaging instead of healing.

Today, I am having a good day, despite the tenor of the poem.

The picture was taken in Greenfield, Mass.


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