As pain crawls in my nerves,
it moves like liquid colors on my skin.
Pain is bright, pretty, and invited—
for I know for sure
it’ll tiptoe once it sees my spilling courage,
overflowing with bolder defiant colors,
popping and bursting with sparks and confetti.
It won’t know what to do
with all this noise I carry—
not grief, but something louder.
The kind of ache that dances,
that grinds its teeth into rhythm,
that turns every shiver into a beat.
My body, a festival of survival.
My nerves, electric with memory and fight.
Pain can watch—
but it won’t settle.
Not here.
Not where hope throws paint like wildfire
and every scar glows fluorescent
in the dark.
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 6:00 AM UTC
As pain crawls in my nerves,
it moves like liquid colors on my skin.
Pain is bright, pretty, and invited—
for I know for sure
it’ll tiptoe once it sees my spilling courage,
overflowing with bolder defiant colors,
popping and bursting with sparks and confetti.
It won’t know what to do
with all this noise I carry—
not grief, but something louder.
The kind of ache that dances,
that grinds its teeth into rhythm,
that turns every shiver into a beat.
My body, a festival of survival.
My nerves, electric with memory and fight.
Pain can watch—
but it won’t settle.
Not here.
Not where hope throws paint like wildfire
and every scar glows fluorescent
in the dark.
A poem for a sculpture piece
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