224: The Itch

Oh the desperate urge to scratch

as my traitorous hand creeps slowly towards my back
I watch it move with military stealth
as I am enveloped by the pestilent pull of my oh so itchy shell.

But it cannot be
it must not be allowed
the resistance will win this war
no matter how wildly this torture makes me shout.

No! That skin is sacred
were it any other I wouldn’t care
and would claw my flesh for pleasure
risking red welts and scratches there.

But no! That spot is anointed
I will not give in for short term bliss
that is hallowed ground
where my story is displayed
and I will not compromise it for an itch.

That art is the start of my journey
a visual expression of my whole
and I will not scratch
where the needle stitched the ink permanently into my soul.

Lady Satellite