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I wish my pain had meaning
The foundation of my character
an apotheosis built on aching muscles
On digging pits for concrete in the rain
So that I may raise up a better version of myself
The bitter work that gave us monuments
So that one day we may wipe our brows
With the backs of calloused hands
And smile when others stare in wonder
And care to imagine the nature of its formation
I long for that fight
For scars others can trace with gentle hands
And understand just enough of the nightmare that left me bloodied, battered
Worn ragged but still alive
And I wish I had that comfort
Of running my hands over old wounds
To acknowledge that pain, see it plainly
Hold assurance in my hands, that proof
To validate it as it were
To tell me that was real,
That it might be over now
Instead I’m locked by my own hand
Lying in cool tiles, on stinking carpet
Staring at nothing at all
Nothing on my mind
No real sign,
no blood, no scars,
no story to tell.
Wondering how such pain could come from nothing at all