I will not write about my pain:
The sharpness of a cut
In the skin, simple hurt.
I will not think of days of rain
And the dull, dragging ache
That bears down in heartbreak.
I will not sing that same refrain,
Burnt child in all but name
I will not fear the flame.
I will not show you them again,
Those healed scars that I bear –
Pretend they are not there.
I will rise up in my disdain
Of that sharp, second dart –
The fear that doubles hurt –
And when I walk the paths of pain
I hope that I will know
Living life made them so.
This is for Jane Dougherty’s weekly poetry challenge. It’s a form with no name that we know of, and the subject is “pain”.