It’s the grinding I can’t stand – –
The constant tell that something’s wrong.
The aches and pains:
Irrelevant really.
No one else Feels them
Knows them
Believes them.

It’s a falsehood,
Apparently.

And when I dissent, the
Fault is Mine.
And when I acquiesce, the
Fault is Mine.

But it’s My flesh and bone
Screaming into deafened ears:
(It’s My Ache, My Pain)
Pleading for recognition.

Still, ignorance prevails,
And I am left
Trying to convince you
That the sky is blue,
After all.


June-July 2025