Soft spot

How much of our suffering

Is of our own creation?

Foolish gods in the driver’s seat,

living in towers of teetering cards,

assembled sturdy in our heads.

How much of our suffering

is built upon others’ wounds?

Their stories—

pedestals for our own.

How much of our suffering

lives like a virus in our tired psyche,

thriving in weakened immune systems

and nurturing existing infections?

How much of our suffering

is a minuscule bruise

that the internet told us was cancer?

comment 1 - https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1s8emap/why_be_sad/

comment 2 - https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1s9d79v/lack_of_love/