Medieval

As requested, slowly, I cast my armour into the dirt.
Exposing my heart, which has one too many times been hurt.

My senses awaken, and start to remember what it’s like to feel.
Inflaming with confusion, they separate the phantom pain from the real.

There’s a familiar pain coming from a small metal burr.
She wants the full weight of this chainmail to be shared with her.

Knights tell stories of wars they fought side by side, yet alone.
Tales of a battlefield that has followed me home.

All of my words seem to be falling upon deaf ears.
All but the unintentionally inflammatory ones, which shake loose her fears.

Insecurities fall to her lap, she wavers between fight and flight.
I don’t know it yet, but I’m either getting an earful, or silence tonight.

Heather, thank you for letting me add this picture to post

In the confusion I feel forced to give her just the opposite.
I’m a square peg to her round hole, shaving my edges to fit.

I bite my tongue till it bleeds… Well, there goes one corner.
Warm blood pooling in my mouth, making my cold words warmer.

I didn’t mean it how she heard it, but she refuses to hear it again.
This misjudgement of my character catalyzes frustration.

Turning this conversation around will be no small feat.
Holding thoughts in my mouth where I heat, cool, and repeat.

I forge and inspect these sentences, looking for the perfect one to pick.
The softness still gets lost in translation, and lands like a brick.

Splashing into the culdren of mistrust that she’s brought from her past.
All the good I’ve done, or tried to do, desinegrates so fast.

Thanks again Vittoria, for letting me use this picture!