Grit
you call it grit
and the world applauds
grittiness in a child
but i see the callouses
that fill my hands once soft
and my heart once tender
now lined only in this
need for grit
the fire whose embers threaten
death at any moment i
blow to life over and again
till my cheeks ache from all the puffing
in winters grey while stood for the bus
in summers rain dressed in glad rags
soaking and wishing for the
prickling sun of equator lands
the embers must stay lit
so i keep on with grit
expertly concealing the
callouses on my mind
to hear the thunderous applause
when i step up for the next award.
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Author:
Poeticdiplo (
Offline) - Published: June 19th, 2026 08:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
A poetic expression of resentment over past treatment and suffering. It seems the way of life that callouses develop from continued wear, muscles stronger under use, bones denser with abuse. Are we too soft? Very nicely penned
Thank you for your kind words. Don’t have the answer to your question, what I know is that though the world encourages us to “have some grit” it is always developed under strain, pressure and crushing.
You are most welcome
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