thorn

You are a thorn in my side. Inside

I am at my wits end,
imitating a patient self
I met some years ago. But

if I look too closely,
you are there, staring, knowingly. It
scares me.

With filed edges
I trim coarseness
tryingly-- but you

are at the very root.
My seed of life. A maker
From the Hand above.

I hate it.
And I don't
want to/

[I] hate you.