They Always Ask if it Hurt

People always ask if it hurt
& I always say yes
before inquiring which part they were asking about.
Because it did & it does
& I desire to say otherwise.

Because I never fully got past it.
It being the intentional self harm
& the unintentional obtained disability.

I feel it in my memory
& in my hands
& in my faulty arm
that asks me to choose between artist & healing
like this art isn’t part of this healing
& like healing doesn’t come, regardless.
.
.
Back before all this, before I stabbed myself in the arm with a knife and accidentally severed most of a nerve, I thought of myself as infinite-- able to create and create without restriction or fear.
But three years plus grown from then, here I find myself choosing between being able to go to work and being able to write a poem. Between playing football, and being able to tie my shoes. Between painting and eating. And a thousand other choices I make daily.
My faulty hands are finite. My time, limited. Pain does that for me. So does nerve damage.
And maybe if it didn't hurt so badly and remind me of deep trauma I would count this forced intentional directing of energy as blessing.
Or maybe it is still blessing, this knowing I am not timeless, but also tragedy and lamentation. Both and all and maybe this is my infinity, the inclusion of everything in this growth.