the pain is a gift
this time
like the two drains that
curled up and around under
my skin, and the bruised ribs
that i felt under the cut
nerve endings
like the scar, stretched and
light on the sides, keloid in the
middle, that reaches armpit
to armpit, and the times i
stained various shirt sleeves with
blood that i wasn’t able to feel
like the first person who saw
me naked saw me as a man,
and never mind what came after,
because every part of me was
seen, and loved, however briefly
that may have been
and the pain is a gift
this time,
like sitting shirtless in worn
boxers, giving myself a shot
in the stomach every week, and
the bruise if i put the needle in wrong
like every time i cut myself shaving,
like i haven’t been doing this
for the last close to nine years,
the face that looks back at me
from the mirror is mine,
and mine alone
and i have given myself many gifts,
not just the pain of rebuilding myself
from the ground up, but the beauty of
that first sunrise after thinking it was time
i didn’t see another, and the getting to
grow old as the man i was always
meant to be