Callus of Waiting

Hands dug deep into gravel,

stone against skin, raw and rough.

The sting lingers—a constant hum

beneath the thickened skin.

That callus, a map of patience,

pressure pressed and hardened.

Each crack catches light like old scars,

a stubborn proof I stayed,

waiting when letting go was easier.

Underneath, skin still soft,

vulnerable, but covered,

waiting to break free or break down.