Must I be an expert in describing my pain,
never mind that I endure it.
So curious, yet equally dubious.
Dismissive in reproach.
Steady imposing a mantra of change, reconciled odium.
But how can you recognize the weathering of skin, when your's has never been left to burn.
Or better, the healing of scars etched before a single sin.
Do not tell me a thing, only kin.