Unresolved.

The ache, acute,

Confounding reach for ascension,
Gripping the doors, the floors, the tightening
Of muscles wrench against a whine.


Annoyance, pain, and aggravation
Require a fabric to tear,
They manifest themselves by ripping
At what we hold most dear

And leave holes where once was wholeness.

When others can resolve a misconception,
And render the ripping a figment
Of perception,

To what end does silence travel?

Or,
Like a tailor,
Should I resolve myself and learn to stitch,
At what others cannot see, or claim, or reach beneath.

Or lift.