Making Me

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why does my back hurt?

surely not from these slouched shoulders

nor spending too much time in a ball

not from the boulders

in this bag i’ve slung over

strapped for the climb

can’t be these burns

from my time without rest

in the shade

not the crank in my neck

left from the force of the blow

to my other cheek

the eyes on my back

can’t be the reason

the bruises and blisters

are nothing so big

those scratches


my shadows’ claws aren’t so sharp

those little ones’ expectations

are as weightless as their bodies


ah, yes,

it must be that

that hand on my back

that warm tap

those sweet whispers in my ear

shattered my spine

let go of the tension

built up over the years


don’t make me so spineless

i won’t be able to stand up again

if i fall


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