Poetry

Migraine

Migraine

I have one
And it’s never fun.

It hurts to look upon your face
Because I’m the one without grace
And I’m the one lost inside
With my own problems to hide

And protect till my dying breath
Because who would want to know?
Who would want to know a wretch
Like me? With all my baggage in tow.

I wear my heart on my sleeve
And regret it every time I breathe
Because it’s always a mistake
And I’m the one that has to break.

And suffer.
And grieve.
When I let down my buffer,
My protection, and leave

Myself raw and in pain.

© Sarah Doughty

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