She picks at me in ways that lay me open,
shines a headlamp on my bones
she finds my fossilized remains
and lines them up–
She touches each raw nerve one at a time
just like a surgeon, gets me sobbing with relief
when she is done, when I’m let loose
She makes her money clean with me
though I don’t understand why I cannot
break through my own skin, why I cannot
heal myself
The 365 Poetry Project 
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