Believe Me When I Say I'M Hurting
How do I smile briefly, and turn my head,
Answer questions, make it light
When every mention fills limbs with dread
But I can’t descend to expose the fight
I’ve created a hardened, coarsened outer shell
That moved on quickly, barely cares
That faced the world, and shall not let dwell
The inside creature, who not well fares
The collapsing, sobbing, wailing woman inside me
Cleaves to the floor, pulls it close
And her clawing, fighting fingers wrench me
Begging for but a lighter dose
And her haggard hair spills about her bare neck
And tears left black tracks to her chin
And a torn, worn dress her bony shoulders, bedeck
And her wrists… oh she is so thin.
So the tempest calms and, quiet now, she lies
In the cavernous, bleak, echoing hall,
And you could look to the reflective surface of her eyes
As she’s wound in so tight a ball
For these eyes are repeated outside and in
Haunted with misery, aching
But unreachable is the outer shell’s twin
As one of them stirs, waiting.
Copyright © Emma Gregory | Year Posted 2009
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