It is the trauma that teaches me to announce my threshold of pain,
high as the pilot’s realm where the air is clear,
the sky is above, and the ground is clouds beneath your feet.

Threshold of pain is the title, but the real name is mask,
strong as my steel iron soul; They will both break as one.
It is the shards of my very self that I keep cutting my foot on
that teach me to announce my threshold of pain-

the way that by, “That hurts,” I truly mean, “You’re a murderer,”
the way I’d have to try to paint the death on my skin.
There is no removal clasp; The mask and face are one.
For mask is the title. Threshold- the true name.