Not My Problem

Why should I share

my wounds with you?

Sure, my father left

a long time ago

only to remain, forever

in my skin

Sure, war wounds

they left,

no real reason

nothing really stable


Skin is beautiful

Skin is hardened

Skin is wounds

warrior skin.

One doesn’t mellow

like a fine wine,

how convenient.

They shrivel

They snivel

They redirect

They drivel

into drooling

pooling piles

of waste.


instead guilt

doubt, doubles down

left with nothing,

like an empty shell

Oh well…

Not my problem.

©Jay Mora-Shihadeh

Photo by ANKUSH CHAUDHARY ( ELITE ) from Pexels

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