we all feel pain—
most say they feel it worse.
it’s delusional,
this need to make pain singular.
perhaps,
i think it’s mercy:
your sob story is not what defiles you—
nor the knives you’ve lost inside you.
it’s funny how we say no one cares,
but maybe
they care too much
to sit and watch you cry.
feelings are universal.
i may not relate to your details,
but i know
a place too familiar.
pain is phenomenal.
it never ceases to exist.
we’ve just grown too comfortable—
and let it define us.
don’t write to be sad.
don’t write to be another sob story
someone bats their eyes at.
don’t crucify what little they have left.
they could be terminal.
there is a way,
one of many art forms:
expression—
that does not call for glorification
or definition.
anyone can write
my mother died
in a car crash-
as if they weren’t
assigned
designated driver.
anyone can write
their rehab record
and stand like
an award.
few
can hold the scalpel
and come out of it
whole.