USED TO IT

This poem is a reflection of my harsh experiences through the dark corners of life

My tongue is acquainted with the taste of gall that it recoils at the taste of new wine
My skin is accustomed to pain that it sees caress as foreign
My face is used to frowning that it looks at smile with suspicion
My feet are used to treading on thorns that it catches a cold on tiled floors

My palm is used to being embellished with sores that it feels numb on spa
My nails bear tribal marks of toiling that acrylic nails can't clothe its wretchedness
Used to my shoulders been deflated as flattened tyres
Self has lost its esteem like a rose dipped in the mud

I'm used to the herculean ride to hell in broad daylight
Dining with gruesome beasts on round tables
Enveloped by their infernal presence
And buried in an abyss of emptiness

Used to retiring for the night early
Not as a hen to roost
But, to think my life through, staring blankly at space

Being drenched in a pool of worry
And starvation of fulfillment on a daily basis
Dipping my chaplets in bosom of mother earth
In high hopes to grant my wishes

Author's Note

This poem takes the readers on a free ride through the rough roads of hardship and struggles and alights them at the bus stop of the hidden strength that lies potential within us all