Waiting Rooms Poem by Eugene Pappan

They sling reassurances at me like:
"Everything's going to be okay."
ROUTINE, the audacity of such a word
I sit here, a sand castle during a monsoon
Holding it together, an impossibility
I pleaded to god today
I collected all the prayers I've ever prayed
I'd undo them all if it meant you are okay
I was born through a wound
I never healed from
From the only place I ever grew
I hurt when I became
A habit I never broke
I suppose that's why I scar who I love
This poem is just a fancy way of saying
Failing you was a wound that won't heal