some people strike oil when they dig deep

for me it was words

each time a drill bit hit

me, bored a hole

in my soul with unkind words,

unwant, I wrote,

to have some form of pain that

I could put away, to speak

around the ache,

to stop a fatal quake,

to keep it to a crack in my crust

the fault lines formed by carelessness clashing

with heart-heavy overinvestment, yes,

sometimes it’s true,

the pen was mightier than blades

which did their best

to cut through


they say time heals

and they’re not wrong, but in my case

the more effective way is to translate

because words always mean the same,

but people change.

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