Sore

When I first got hurt,
the shock clenched and held my pain,
and let others close the wound
with stitches and gauze.

The stitches showing
the world all knew.
As the wound pulsed and pounded,
reddened and slowly healed.

Malaise became despair
as I questioned even writing:
Does anyone really care that I know
the difference between "infer" and "imply"?

But the pain has lessened,
stitches gone, pink skin returned.
My moods have lessened, too.
Until, right now, I am just sore...