I
And I don't know what they mean,
by not falling at your feet,
and kissing your wounds
every time, with apologies.
You learned
to run until your legs give,
and they never do.
You're still running.
I've watched you
pick yourself up,
dust yourself off,
and sigh, enough times.
It's just another scratch.
The world can't break you until
it does. God knows
they've had enough chances.
God knows you've been waiting.
II**
You're hardened;
you expect nothing, await
only one thing.
Come out of fights,
doubled up but breathing.
You don't know why your bones
don't break, just as easily
as promises have.
When was the last time
you were offered a hand?
When you stopped looking into
people's eyes
knowing you weren't going to find anything
There's nothing for you here.
And maybe every wound,
brings you that much closer
to leaving.
"no pain like this body"
"my bones ache in pure and ugly ways"
