In this space
In this space that is called healing
All it keeps happening is we break layers
Of the illusions my mind have concocted
Like my hand peeling through the onion positioned slightly far away from my eyes
But they still water uncontrollably and I still keep peeling
The food must be cooked
Eyes eventually clear up.
I go rounds of pointing fingers and putting my hands together
Point to my heart, point to my home’s heart
Point to the lost love’s heart, viciously
Crush, crush, teared
Layers will be revealed.