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I live in a land of hurt. Hurt does not necessarily grow, though it rises up through the soil, resilient as a weed. It strangles the grand yellow blooms of the sandy desert that perhaps sought substance where none could be found. I’ve known physical pain in this desert land, which reminds me I live. The physical nature of pain can be ignored and in time forgotten as this land around me would soon forget I lived. I’ve known anguish deep within the roots of my being searching through dry sand for the life I craved. Even anguish is forgotten. Roots shrivel and I become hardened. Now I hold the sea inside of me. I’ve become green and towering with serrated pain for those who embrace me. One would think my environment shaped me, but I tell you this is not so. Hurt was inside us all to dry the ocean and we gave freely. Perhaps you did not know.
