No one’s ever freed anything 

by hating it. 

No one’s ever healed anything 

by beating it. 

You kicked what was down, 

demanding it get up— 

you tucked the flower in a closet, then asked it:

“why haven’t you grown?”

You were struck so much,

you flinched at loving hands.

If you’re empty long enough, 

drinking in the Sun

will turn your stomach.

Maybe part of healing

is learning to tolerate the medicine.

Maybe poison 

is an acquired taste

that needs to be forgotten.