Poem from my poetry chapbook: In the Feels

Worrisome

I take it on like extra
weight that burdens me
and holds me back and
kills every part of me.

I hate to be the one always
holding the keys holding
the door holding the pen.

But weight is not easily
lost and nor can it be
shared with another who
can bear it in the dark.

Time and time and
time is not my friend
and I cannot extend
my hand to one who is.

Calm and tears go rounds
fighting for space on my
face crumpled like
yesterday’s newspaper
it is forsaken and it
is forgotten and it is
for me, always me.

And I lose the words
because they are not heard
are not learned are not
solved and their sound
to me is repulsive as a
sign of my never yielding
capacity to lie in wait
for that which will not
come to pass, come to
dance, come to an end.