Band-Aid

Band-Aid: 

Sought out at the sight of a wound to heal. 

From a cat scratch to a bullet hole, 

The box in your medicine cabinet is at your beck and call

Patiently waiting for the second you need comfort. 

Stretch, fold, move to keep you content. 

I’ll be your Band-Aid: 

Blend to you, a perfect fit. 

I’ll be just in reach to fight off your pain

Night or day, right or wrong. 

A roadmap of scars is no more than a constellation of stars; 

Whether dark or light

Or rain or sun, 

Always need me. 

Always love me.

Please, always need me. 

I am your Band-Aid: 

Forgotten in First Aid kits, 

Littered lost in crevices of dark cabinets 

Below the sink. 

Hands, ones I expect to cradle my tattered form, 

Only seize me from the dark when it consumes you. 

Stretch me, fold me, move me; 

Manipulate me for your contentment. 

Once blended to you, now trapped on you. 

Unsure if I remain my own entity 

Or a twisted part of your anguish. 

Seated at your bleeding fingertips, made 

To suffocate so you may heal. 

Always needed, never wanted. 

Stripped to my core, 

Stick me on, 

Rip me away when my job is over. 

Always needed, 

Easily discarded.