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I open my eyes to take in the dim dawn light,
I look in the mirror to make sure
my being is still in existence,
though I refuse to believe it.
I make it to work,
fraught with the emotions
I tried so desperately to suppress the night before.
Jack and Jameson are the only true friends in my mind.
I mull through my morning with my head down as coworkers ask how I am.
How do I answer?
The same way I have for 30 years-
wipe the dirt off my face and give,
a meek yet deceiving, “fine thanks.”
Nobody can see the truth beneath my long flannel sleeves,
My crutch that nobody else on earth has ever seen.
To those who take interest,
“Farm wounds” are the only explanations brought to light.
No one will ever know;
I will keep the truth hidden on the hottest of days;
The sweltering heat is nothing like the pain I feel.
In everyone's eyes I must be seen like an old tractor,
rugged, and strong..
But my life is like a harrow frail set;
I am dragging through the soil
seemingly without flaw,
deep down it's only a matter of time before I hit one big rock,
and finally break down.
The sun goes down and I drift back to my home,
where my old familiar friends await my arrival.
It's a short visit before they lay me down to sleep,
as I drift off to a world without pain,
and no longer needing to weep.