The Hook

I’m about to do the thing I said I’d never.

I’m not as strong or half as clever

as the kid who sat beneath the light

and swore we’d always win the fight.

Our fingers locked, a tiny bone-press.

I’ve made my life a jagged mess.

The scar on my knuckle is white and deep,

a secret the ten-year-old wanted to keep.

I’m sorry, little ghost. I’m letting go.

I’m not the hero you used to know.