Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

The Yielding Point

at what point does
the healing come?
my scars don’t ever seal,
they just build
and incarcerate emotions
to conceal
what is really going on with me.
if you look closely
at my eyes, you’ll see
that something has disappeared,
you’ll see
that i’m not really here,
that there’s
emptiness behind my stare.
but no one really wants to look anymore.
people get tired of wakes of sadness,
they get weary
of the unhealed.
so my eyes stand alone
while knives stab at my torso,
driven through my flesh
by invisible assassins so i don’t even know
which way to look
to shield myself.
i just want to smile again
and mean it but
i feel low like
my ribcage surrounding my heart is
squeezing and sucking
all the life out of me.

at what point does life become
too much?
what is the yielding point to give up?
the only thing keeping me here is curiosity
because i have not gone through all this
just to rob myself and not see
the reward,
if there even is one.
it feels like my life is ending,
but maybe it’s just begun,
like this is day number one
and i have a whole new sequence of years to live,
that i have a clear
mind free of confusion
and a healthy
heart where hurt does not exist yet
and a soul unburdened by


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