Understanding the Hurt

Hurting Heart

To comprehend the heart,
wrenching me from day to day,
tugging my body along like a rag doll,
my body simply a glove
for a greater being.
If I can't make any sense of it,
how can I expect you to?
Still, your words,
though you may not mean it that way,
can sting just as fiercely
as a thousand swords
thrusting into my belly,
rending my actions useless.
Your voice
calls from miles away,
yet it's as if you are here,
my face only inches from yours.
So why do you not see
the grimaces of pain
you etch onto my face?
How can you not hear
the hurt escape from my lips
when you see as nothing more
than a boy,
unable to stand up for himself or
hold his own in the world?
Is this why you left my side,
seeing a baby huddled at your feet
rather than the knight
that gallops through your dreams?
For let me tell you,
I am no sniveling youth,
no child to be chided.
I can show you if I must,
that I can stand tall amid the rest,
a man in his own right,
but why should I
when you've already cast me aside?
Still, the words,
they burn the brands you've left in my side
marking me as your own,
reminding how I am no longer yours,
but just another cow of the herd,
no one of significance to you.

But maybe if I moo loud enough,
you'll remember I'm not just another steer,
but a proud bull,
standing his ground in this harsh pen,
hoping that he can hold on long enough
for a better day to come.