I know Hurt. 

I know his weight

When he sits on my chest. 

I can feel his height, 

I can tell by his size, 

If he will push to the left, 

Stay, mild on the right. 

I understand Hurt. 

How he changes, sort of

like a wave, sort of 

like the sea's slow steady 

tide, 

whistling with the wind. 

I am confused by its birth, 

But I understand its tide. 

I understand what triggers it, 

(More or Less)

I can taste the undertones of It, 

(bruised Pride, Self-loathing,Heartbreak)

I understand Hurt. 

It feels like a squeeze. 

A squeeze from a tawdry aunt, it's,

A circular mark, spreading, 

In the centre of your chest. 

It squeezes tighter, gets bigger

towards one side or the other.

It varies, really, 

Depending on the hour, trigger, 

how much or how little you've eaten. 

It varies. 

I hurt. 

Often. 

Too often. 

I know hurt, 

of course I would, 

understand Him. 

He might even be my most stable relationship.