Splinter

Old structures can be rough:

You may want to change your mind about running your hand across that surface.

It was built with weathered wood and I loved it's history.

For a while, I thought about how nice it would be to hold some without grasping it.

Just a little sliver.

A fragment despite sweat and tears.

If there was such a thing as a good hurt

I planned it.

A palm reader asked me, "How long have you carried this splinter?".

I figured as long as it takes for me to see there's an infection.

A swollen infraction was always cramming nonsense in wounds.

The hand rises

puffy and red...

Lines expand and create caverns..

A certain splinter destined in a path of a thousand wooden particles.

Push it out.

That can't be there.

It felt like a dagger

that wouldn't kill me already.

So deep and irritating.

Annoyance on any decent day.

Where a vague, dull pointed fitting

jammed into pale skin.

With time, it all heals over

and when it does

all the discomfort

all the vexation 

clears.

Maybe my head was filled with sawdust,

but from now on I will carry sandpaper.

Because for disturbances to be lodged so deeply

in a body that frequently feels pain

reminds me that in order to build a happy life

we shouldn't be so careless

during construction.