Last night, I was exchanging comments with a fellow blogger, when I was reminded of a couple of poems I wrote about pain.

Cate Reddell, the fine person (and Kiwi!) who writes the also fine “Infinite Sadness…or Hope?” writes a lot about how to not lose your hope while you’re dealing with what at times can seem to be a sea of pain. (This is a gross oversimplification. Do yourself a favor and check out her blog. One day Dave Sedaris talk pretty…and one day me write this stuff good like Cate.) But while we were talking about pain and how easy it can be for others to minimize our pain with easy catchphrases about it making us stronger, I was reminded of these two poems.

THAT WHICH DOES NOT KILL ME

If it’s the sad things make us stronger,
don’t wanna be strong any longer.

Don’t wanna be stronger,
can’t take much more.

If strength is just
pain, distilled,
a crutch worn by the lame
til it’s a part of him —

I don’t have the strength
to be any stronger.

It’s not given, it’s earned.
It’s not common, it’s learned.

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A CHICKEN BONE STUCK IN MY THROAT

Some memories are shards of time
too sharp to swallow –

too painful to remember,
too hard to forget.