Numb
by Buddah Moskowitz
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I numb myself
so it doesn't envelop
me,
so it doesn't hurt.
Wrapping myself
in my invisible protective coating,
I withstand the quills
of every porcupine I meet,
and I seem to know
an endless supply of them.
My gallery of scars
suggests my plan
isn't foolproof.
When mistreated,
I just numb myself,
and then I experience it
as though I am watching
a black comedy
starring a tragically
bumbling
protagonist.
Through denigration
neglect and abuse,
I stand firm and
do not fall in the public eye.
I confess only
to God and this blank paper
as I fear neither.
In the solitude
of an empty parking lot,
with ink and prayer
I step out of the numbness
and inspect my puncture wounds,
some of which
go 46 years deep.
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