Stinging

To sew is to
Lick the frayed nerves
And tie them to the needle
As holes are poked and threaded
In pain
Through the seam that needs stitching;
And the sting
Is felt not by the skin
But the holes
Which do not open
They close.

To heal is to
Let the clouds roll over on their sides
And release what they hold
As the sky roars
To drain
What never truly belonged;
As it falls
It feels not the lows
But the highs
And it does not dampen
It dries.

To sprout is to
Let the alcohol into the cracks
And let it sting
As the biting drops fall
Like rain
On a plant that needs water;
While it flows
It feels not the water
But the sun
And it does not burn
It grows.

By Georgi Butch

Biography:

Georgi Butch is a rising poet who currently attends high school in Allentown, Pennsylvania. She frequents poetry slams and enjoys performing spoken word, but hopes to have her work widely published in print.