Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort

            of horse he had growing up. He said,

Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it

            rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong.

I have always been too sensitive, a weeper

            from a long line of weepers.

I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.

(Ada Limon, https://therumpus.net/2021/05/06/rumpus-original-poetry-the-hurting-kind-by-ada-limon/)