Punishment

Every day I pick at old scars-

pain to remind me of my misdeeds.

This way, perhaps, being locked away

isn’t in vain. A cage for my punishment,

though it can feel restricting,

broken wings can no longer fly.

It is true, at times, shackles-

they can feel heavy,

But I will gladly carry this burden.

Regret tries to steal bits of light left

in my heart. So I remember-

violence-the way broken bones ache,

and the impossibility of seeing through black

eyes. Suddenly, defense was my only crime.