There are hands against my temples,
Pressing, squeezing, building tension
Like a band slowly constricting
Around my head, over my eyelids.
I squint and continue my day,
Knowing my knuckles won’t be able

To massage the aching away--
Even as I force myself to focus
And ignore the whiplash of a knife
Slashing through my mind—
I am only as present as the willpower
I possess, despite my pain.