Hurt

 

Is a lonely bird,

Limping away to a nest of safety,

The loud whirring of an air conditioner,

Quietly shutting after it breaks down.

The rebellious child, jumping

On a trampoline, in spite of being warned,

That time is up and we must go home.

An open wound you bandage up,

But peak into time and again,

To see how far you have healed.

It's the noise of cement machines,

The drilling, the banging of walls,

By your callous upstair neighbours.

You want to tell them to stop being

So selfish and careless, but instead you nod

And keep in your thoughts, deep inside,

Till they hurt even more.

Hurt needs to find a new place to hide,

Or rather, pull open its torn disguise,

And reveal itself to the world.

'Here I am, here I am.

I don't need your salvation or pity.

Just acknowledge me and let me go.

Just for once, look me in the eye.

And tell me that you tried.'