For the fifth or twelfth time
And the hole in my chest hasn’t healed
I can stick my hand through
35 layers of me
No blood anymore
I just count the layers
Not as reassurance or reminder
I just pull my tank and tee and sweater and coat over the hole
People might faint or vomit at the sight
Of where my heart should be.
I tried to tell them it’s easier.
It’s easier this way.