If she could take my pain away…she would.

But it is mine to own.

She can search the hurt…but the hunt would remain…not hers.

So often…the urge rings out…

‘What can I do to help?’

Yet, these barren wastelands are custom-made for self.

And, within the bouts of relief…this much is true…

This much is true…

When I reach over to feel a long…long ago…scar.

The distance between it and now…seems so far.

And, though, I remember the pain it bought.

imageedit_9_9934820279I remember…most, the love it brought.

To pray for the suffering to end…

Would be participating in a childish game of pretend.

She would take my pain if she could.

Yet, there is no reason that she should.

It is mine to own…

both the bad,


the good.


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