The Worm

The Worm

These people
their habits and manner
the way their words gently
but persistently
slide underneath my skin
sink into my chest
and chisel away at my heart.
Hands that move
to shape
shift
mould
create
change.
Eyes that see me
that patiently
steadfastly
love me despite.

I am uncomfortable
even angry.
I want to shout, to puke.
I want to run.

Mercy makes me ache.
I squirm and fidget
beneath the weight of it,
writhing
fighting
like an unearthed worm
dug up from the cold dirt,
brought into the irresistible sun.
Give me what I deserve,
I scream.

You listen and wait
with warm space
and tender eyes.
You are not afraid of me.