Woes

My Bucket

Always in use

Rarely light, never set down

Often sloshing, filled to the brim.

Days spent spilling over with stress and worry.

Moments of self doubt weigh down my arm, my back tilts to the side compensate.

My shoulder strains, my spine compresses, hurting my back.

Obligations, assignments, faulty time management, all vary from bricks to frantic pinching crabs aiming at my fingers.

Identity issues, romantic problems, fluctuating self image- my bucket feels filled with cement.

Those rare days where it feels empty, swinging it along feels fun.

Days spent free to create, to dream, to enjoy, to breathe without the weight dragging me down.

Others have buckets, some small some big, some they can set down and even walk away from.

For some reason, the most I can do is switch hands;

The switch often being between physical illness or situational dysfunction and mental illness or existential crises;

Using both hands hinders my pace, making it feel even heavier.

My bucket is mine, I cherish it greatly but it is a burden as well.

I dream of wheel barrows or push carts.

Not having the weight directly hanging from my body,even on light days.

To have my hands free when reaching for help or to new heights.

I imagine would be a spiritually freeing experience.

But for now I just have my bucket.

Always in use, never set down.