The poets lied to us. They made a mockery of our constitution by glorifying pain. There's nothing noble about suffering. Grief sucks. It always did and it always will. Words can pretend to be a balm for the wounded souls but how many can read Maya Angelou? Pain is what we are made up of. Pinch? Hurts. Slap? Hurts. Punch? Let's not go there. Even frank words and unscripted kisses hurt at times. What's noteworthy though is pain creates. No success worth celebrating happened without a heavy dosage of discomfort. Having said that, stay tuned to something really great from my end because i've badly sprained my neck in mysterious fashion. And as we all know by now, who works in mysterious ways? Yea, right. Pain.