The Habit

I have to ask you

Not to ask me

If it hurts –

/

Pain has become

Less of a feeling

And more of mere word;

/

It walks me home,

It sleeps with me

And holds my hand

/

Keeping at bay

The creeping fear

That I have nothing left;

/

You say I seem

To love my pain;

I wish that this was true;

/

What’s true’s that all I ever wanted

Hurt, challenged,

Broke or bruised me;

/

You see, I wasn’t

Made to live

The dreams of greater men,

/

And this was why

I had to make

A habit out of pain