A good day

there is something
special here
a secret language we whisper
both our traumas
are scratched into skin
tucked away until we
see each other again
never completely gone
you say your friends touch your scars
call you a washboard
and I say no one touches mine
so you take my arm
lightly touch the bumpy surface
the raised rough skin
and then smile
we sit cross legged on
the hospital bed
gossip about flirty
boys on the ward,
measure the baby sized ice
cream bars with our fingers
you read me your poems
each line
raw with a stitched struggle
each word falls out
of your mouth
fills the empty space
between us.
there is something
special here
both our traumas
inked into notebooks
and read aloud
put into a envelope
for an hour pass
we walk
run up stairs
take elevators only to find
out they don’t work
you do the flips
i take the pictures
we both call this a good day