My boy Luke can write 50 Manifestos in an hour.

A pain.

A deep, grumbling, jaw-clenching pain.

A pain like the wrath of god--the wrath of all the gods.

A pain that doesn't waver, doesn't diminish.

A pain that starts in your gut.

That shortens your breath.

That slows your walk.

That doubles you over.

And doesn't leave.

A pain.

A pain not understood by family, or friends, or anyone else.

Like Ahab and the White Whale, you are alone with your pain.

It will conquer you.

Or.

You will conquer it.

You will rise.

Straighten yourself.

And fill your lungs with air and hope.

You will deal with the pain.

You will vanquish it.

You are stronger than the pain.

Because you have made it to the toilet.

And flushed your pain.

Away.