Unseen Pain

if you saw me,
my leg missing
from the knee down,
the end red and puckered
often rubbed raw
by aggravation
and friction,

you would find
compassion in your heart,
you would happily
lend a hand to help,
a shoulder to cry on
and healthy legs to
move the furniture

but when you see me
you don’t even notice
the missing bits,
the scars on my soul,
often rubbed raw
by aggravation
and friction

you find my tears and fears
irritating
self indulgent;
my despair -
just an excuse
for not living up
to your expectations

you tell me to
Pull Up My Socks
(hard when my soul’s
missing a leg)
Get A Grip
(difficult for my scarred
spirit fingers)

you wouldn’t tell
a blind man,
just get over it and see,
so why can’t you
recognize that I
am scarred of spirit
missing something real?

are you scared
that if you allow
the reality of my pain,
then when you look
in the mirror tomorrow
you may have to
acknowledge your own?