My soul is made of many layers.

Like rings on a tree representing time.

Every segment shows evidence of struggles, wins, and failure.

Burns, scars, and armor.

All part of my very essence.

So difficult to heal.

***

I know you can see them and I fear it.

The more I let you in, the deeper you sink into me.

Like a pebble breaking the surface tension.

Not everything in the deep is as serene as the surface.

I fear I let something hideous live.

Just out of sight and mind.

***

The damage does not have to be permanent.

It can be fixed with a gorey, bloody surgery.

Layers of the souls’ flesh pierced and pried apart.

Exposing the deeper rotted section.

Carved, flaid, molded, flattened, smoothed, fixed.

Healed until a unity is found.

***

The process is so painful.

No medicine available to soothe,

But I want to let you in.

I refuse to let my rot spread to you.

So I will tend to all of my layers.

And feel so much better at the end.