Feeling

“I put my hand on the stove to see if I still bleed….”

What shows me that I can feel?
In bed snuggled up while my toes wiggle against each other,
Nips and cuts on my skin, a consequence of my carelessness.
When I pinch myself to exclaim.
When I place my hands over my heart to soothe the ache.
But that’s not enough.

Why can’t I feel;
The burn of your rejection?
The sting of your  words?
The joy of the ones I love?
The brokenness of my beloved?
And it doesn’t stop there,

What shows me I can feel?
When you hold my hand as we cross the roads.
When I give you a hug and remain in your embrace.
When you squish my cheeks in an attempt to cheer me up.
When you rub my head to calm my mind.
But that’s not enough.

""Is there not a balm in Gilead?" 

I couldn’t feel so I tried to touch.
I couldn’t feel so I mirrored your responses.
I couldn’t feel so I broke your heart.
I couldn’t feel so I ripped your sprit.
I couldn’t feel so I walked away.

Where is compassion when I need to feel it?
Where is love when I want to show it?
Where are my tears when I was to express pain?
Where is joy when moments seem bleak?
But I feel absolutely nothing.

"Can these bones live again?"

Nothing but pain.
A pain that has no voice.
A pain that has no expression.
A pain that does not want to be stifled.
A pain that has no knowledge of freedom.