It's that bitter taste
again
it comes and goes like the seasons; the sun and the moon; the rain and the sky; the wind and the stillness.
It's windy out here,
in the cold
in the open
so fragile
I am
out here
Does it ever stop
that feeling,
I ask.
Yes,
you answer, when you are dead. You tell me.
But why does it have to hurt, I ask you again.
You smile.
No, it doesn't always hurt, I tell myself.
**6.5.12.
I wrote this as one of my first poems. I think it's one of my better ones. It's simple and honest.
[EDIT: This is published on http://everywritersresource.com/poemeveryday/concrete-ground-by-anne-h-bakke/!! Yay!]