THE PEARL
- Jun 26
- 1 min read
By Nicki Blake
even at my brightest
the old hurt remains
it lurks, palliated by the past,
swathed in epochs of defence
distinct as geology –
a little wound become a little world
the glow you so admire is
symptom of salt, of silica
my value - my response
to ceaseless torture
the trauma has changed how I appear,
and what you perceive as beauty is a scar