little boy,

maybe ten,

summer camp,

backwoods,

the kind of place

where you wash

your own dishes,

and toilets,

and sweep,

everyone had a chore chart,

playground made by

weekend carpenters,

rusty nails exposed

in the ceiling

of the "fort,"

caught his hand

on one, sliced open,

patched it with

duck tape and toilet paper,

because he feared

asking for help

from the nurse.

hid the wound from adults

and told the other kids

it was just a scratch,

as an adult,

he did the same

with a spider bite,

ate a hole the size of a quarter,

in his arm,

hurt like hell,

scraped the dead flesh out

with a knife

and used mouthwash and vodka

to sanitize,

uncomfortable with doctors,

the method works

for the pain within too,

it hurts more

when left to fester,

but he can't understand

how to make himself

need assistance from people

who might not come

to his aid.

he fears,

that he's all callus now,

happy he ascended

beyond the reach of pain.

     I have always hated it when I couldn't find out the why. Why do things happen? Why was I born in winter? All those stupid questions I just couldn't find out. But, the one thing I've always pushed away was when somebody cares and there just isn't a logical reason why they would, they just do. So, I push them away. I just don't understand why people would just care without an expectation of something from me... honest to God, it scares me. And I push the things that scare me away. Instantly.