The Unhealed Healed (Poem)

Beware of the unhealed healed
Standing on their soap box
The good on paper
Life to do: Check every box
Never venturing off the beaten path
Never willing to question or dare to ask
Too busy trying to fit in
The spiritually uninformed solely seeks to win
It’s a surface game with these folks
They don’t want to dive any deeper
They want you to know they’re healed
Isn’t that the appeal?

Yet the irony and the comedy is not lost on me
Hiding behind the veil of allure
A mask is all I can see
A tarot card away from losing a gasket
It must be difficult to be that plastic
Quick to judge and cast shame
They are the unhealed healed
A face with no one behind their name
Calm, cool, and collected on the surface
It makes sense why I make them nervous
Trying to will me into submission
Not realizing I have diagnosed their condition

Like naming Voldemort to his face
I have no desire to put you in your place
I do however delight in your parade of charades
The ones that cast spiritual healing under the guise of fame
It must be nice to pretend you have it all figure out
Do the unaware have self-doubt?
Or do they push it down like trying to stuff their feelings into an overflowing suitcase
Void of a foundational base
I like to watch in curiosity
The unhealed healed try to proselytize and peddle common sense
It’s like watching a child play pretend