the sting

“give me a second,”

i say.

“let the sting go away.”

i wait for my tears to dry

but

you come closer to me

and sit by my side.

you talk to me

to tell me it’s ok.

“did it bite you?”

“no.”

but what should you say?

i don’t want to talk to you

after you obviously bluff.

“we’ve all been there.”

“you don’t have to be tough.”

i stand up and walk.

you come to walk alongside.

i say something to you,

but a part of me lied.

you pull out the stinger,

but now that it’s gone,

you don’t know how to help me,

while I’m supposed to carry on.

you said, “it’s just a bite.”

and gave me a bandage.

but the sting lingered.

i needed a new vantage.

the sting went away

and I told you, “it’s gone.”

but what I didn’t tell you

was that

i didn’t know how to carry on.

you said, “it’s just a bite,”

but it took its toll.

i thought that you would understand.

but would that fill the hole?

maybe I should see a doctor 

to see what’s going on.

no just 

give me a second.

then maybe the wound will be gone.