Hidden by Paula Hawken

 Where do we hide the pain?
From life’s small injuries, from the little perjuries,
From the slight misunderstandings.
Did I imagine them? Am I insane?
Thousands of tiny cuts sustained,
Interspersed with knives plunged deep,
The hurt contained.
In my big heart; kind heart; sensitive heart; old heart – sweetheart.
My heart, my hiding place, has tried so many times,
And I think with grace,
To absorb and transform that pain.
Success has not always been the case.
It is heavy now, my hiding place.