Hurting Is hard

It runs in the family,
whispers of things better left unsaid,
the notion that loving is easy
and hurting is hard.

Why we find it easier to tell kind lies
than stab justly with the truth
is beyond me...
unless of course, hurting is hard.

We don't talk about tragedy,
It doesn't fit in our melody,
We sip tea on rainy days instead of taking in dirty laundry,
because, well, hurting is hard.

It runs in the family,
Always the belief that only our life is the
good life- and no one else's
but we say none of this to anyone-
hurting is too hard.

As the rain threatens to pour and the heavens grumble
We smile, nod, sit on chairs and sofas but never mumble
Chin up, swallow tempers, don't show discontentment,
better you be permanently annoyed, suck it up-
That's what they tell us...
Oh, and also that hurting is hard.