The healing parts are mighty and wild,
careening through the dark mind,
simultaneously passive and angry,
they take you over, consume your soul.
They hunger for affection, else they grow
a life of their own, they thrive on tenderness,
else they join together to conquer
their demons with your pain.
The healing parts want to survive,
as the soul writhing in the night.
They are displaced and dissociated,
and only love returns them home,
validation of their realness,
so they may quench their fires,
no longer reduce you to ashes from the
The healing parts are us,
and we, them. We are the parts
we buried deep so long ago, the voice
silenced and the voice raging, the broken, fragile,
lonely, fearful, hurting, hating parts. We are healing
and we are real.