There is so much of me that wants to be better than I am
that if I could
I’d stretch the bones through the skin until I were
all grown up.
Of course I’d be bleeding.
But that’s what adults do, too.
When did it become necessary to suffer
to understand?
When did it become necessary to weep
before you could enjoy silence?
When did it become so hard to breathe
while recollecting yourself
And when did I become so brittle.
I’m in a state of tizzy. Too much to think about and not enough time.
Not enough emotional bandwidth for myself and five million things that needed to be resolved last week.
Weariness is an understatement.
But there’s no rest for the wicked.