You striped your shins raw and red
spilling from an open window
onto the porch roof outside.
Hands flat against the bitumen
you brought yourself upwards, tall,
bearing gravel bitten palms.
My hands will ache at the thought,
of your smile through the lifted glass,
half shadowed by the sunset.
Second, I was more careful in the going,
kept my skin as it should be,
clean, whole, unharmed. I did not spill.
Then we watched as clouds scudded
east to west on slow, hidden winds.
Your slips always taught me lessons.
Like how to pick old wounds clean.
Carol J Forrester 
I love this poem especially your ending. It was a hard lesson for me when I learned my wounds will keep torturing me if I keep feeding on their agony.
Thank you Susie, I’m glad you liked it. That is certainly one of the hardest lessons to learn in life.
This is incredibly poignant. Sometimes in order to let wounds heal we need to rid ourselves of the negative people surrounding us. Thank you so much for writing to the prompt! ❤
My pleasure, thank you for taking the time to stop by and read.
Beautiful poem. Gorgeous description of climbing out on that roof but so much more. Life lessons in watching others, learning from mistakes – hopefully. Lovely
Thank you Lynn. It didn’t turn out to be one of my favorite writes but I think it suited the prompt it was for well.
I think it worked beautifully.
Love the conclusions…
wounds can never heal if we are picking at scabs.
Thank you Bjorn. You’re right they can’t, but we also have to make sure we don’t leave debris behind to fester
Love, love, love the message in your poem.
I love poems that embrace our past, lessons learned… they are an important part of who we are…
Thank you Margaret. You’re right. Our pasts shape us and teach us. Thank you for reading.